The Broken Shield
by isaiah18376
Summary: The events of Captain America: Civil War left everything broken. The Avengers, Romanogers, Rhodey's spinal column, love, friendship, trust, family - everything was in pieces. In The Broken Shield, I will try to glue the pieces together. It will mainly be about the process of in which Steve and Natasha finally succumb to their feelings for each other.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Summary:**

The events of Captain America: Civil War left everything broken. The Avengers, Romanogers, Rhodey's spinal column, love, friendship, trust, family - everything was in pieces. In this story, I will try to glue the pieces together. It will mainly be about the process in which Steve and Natasha finally succumb to their feelings for each other. The Broken Shield will pick up somewhere in the middle of Captain America: Civil War. More specifically, it will begin directly after the airport fight scene. This is a Romanogers centered story. From start till the end, readers will see how Steve and Natasha's relationship transform and grow. Their relationship will evolve, slowly, bit by bit, from close friendship into something so much deeper and stronger. Readers will see, through every little scenes and events in The Broken Shield, that Steve and Natasha were indeed made for each other, and that they truly belonged to each other. Romanogers = true love; and it is my every intent to prove it. This is MAINLY a love story. But singling out one particular genre isn't really my thing. I prefer a mixture of things. Therefore, this story will also have elements of thriller, suspense and adventure.

 **General Notes:**

First of all, this is my first (and probably my last) attempt in writing my own fiction. My field is in science, and I am used to writing technical report and papers. That being said, I might screw up somewhere because I am not used to the style of fiction writing. Please understand. Through this piece, I hope to thank, and to return the favor to all the awesome and talented fanfiction writers out there who had brought so much joy to my life over the years through their fics. Thank you so much guys. And of course, to all the amazing Romanogers shippers and all members of this awesome fandom! This work is for **YOU!**

Now. MY MAIN OBJECTIVE, is to **SHOW** the whole world how awesome and great Romanogers can be.

 **DISCLAIMER:**

I do not own any of the characters. All characters belong to Marvel. This is a non-profit work. There will be a lot of plot twists and scene fillers which diverge from Canon, and those are mine and mine alone. Which means, any faults, if any, are mine and mine alone.

 **Important Notes (READ THIS):**

There are a few key points I would like to point out to any readers.

1) I have made a lot of references to previous Marvel Installments (CATWS, CACW, AoU, The Avengers). So if you haven't watched those, please do. It will make reading this story a much more coherent experience.

2) All the things in CACW movie, right until the end of the airport scene, did happen in this story. Well, except for one thing though. The Staron kiss never happened. Why? Well, if you're asking that question, then I think you're in the wrong place.

3) All CACW's scenes will be adapted into this story, right until the airport scene. Then for the events which follow the airport scene, I will make some twists. In other words, there will be some major deviations from the actual movie for the scenes in Siberia and all that.

4) This first chapter is a prologue. That means the 'real' beginning of the story will begin on the NEXT chapter. The prologue is just a sneak peak/preview type thing for the future events in my story.

5) One last thing. A lot of chapters of this story have already been published in AO3. Due to my busy schedule, I might not have the time to post all published chapters of this story to this site. In other words, I will update The Broken SHIELD only in AO3. The reason I'm publishing it here today is because I want to share my work with readers outside AO3 too. And oh, in case you're wondering, I've already tried uploading the html file I've downloaded from AO3 to 's document manager, but for some reason, it just keeps failing. And God help us all, AO3 is so much more versatile in terms of its features compared to this site. I find that publishing in AO3 definitely makes my life a lot easier. Hence, if you find this story interesting and bearable, you can follow it on AO3. Just search for the story name.

I will only publish the first few chapters in the meantime. Well, because publishing the rest is tedious due to this story's substantial length.

Errr. Okay then. I think I have covered most points that I wanted to say. Will add in stuff later if I missed anything.

I hope you will enjoy this story.

P/S:

Don't keep your hopes up. I am a first timer.

Isaiah.

* * *

 _8 months after the events of Captain America: Civil War…_

 **The Mara Mountain Ranges, Northern Greenland.**

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Deep in the rimy mountain ranges of Greenland, a lone soldier staggered, icy rocks crunched noisily beneath his boots.

His body was battered and bruised. Every step he took was a labor. He couldn't see straight. His head throbbed as he felt a wave of nausea stirring at the pit of his stomach.

A concussion, undoubtedly.

His knees hit the icy ground at the same time his body bent over. His stomach wrenched, attempting to hurl out its contents.

Nothing came out.

His wheezes turned into dry, hacking coughs before he realized that he had a collapsed lung too.

Clutching the energy weapon in his arms, the lone soldier stood up abruptly and began limping forward again. He couldn't stay out in the open for long. They would soon find him if he did.

He increased his pace, ploughing his way through the howling gusts of hyperborean wind.

One step at a time.

Each step bringing him closer to his final mission.

He would not fail.

Failure wasn't an option.

Lifting his head, he spotted the foot of Mount Mara ahead of him. The woods. The frost covered trees. He was near his destination.

Just a little bit more.

When he reached the edge of the forest, he allowed himself to take a small break against the frozen bark of a tree. He took a deep, ragged breath and felt a sharp pain deep within his chest. It was his goddamn collapsed lung again.

He ignored the pain and turned his gaze towards the path which he came from.

He saw everything.

Dead bodies of soldiers, pummeled beyond recognition by the Hulk's fists.

Some were burnt to a crisp, undoubtedly by Mjolnir's lightning.

Further down the path he came from, he saw the silhouette of what used to be their base against the smog. Their base, their biggest base thus far, reduced to ashes by the Avengers.

There was nothing left.

All their artilleries, their men, their experiments, their files too. They were all gone. Destroyed.

All that planning and strategizing, all that painstaking effort invested to create the perfect instruments for _order._

Decades of hard work, obliterated.

What a waste.

Tightening his grip on his energy weapon, he pushed away from the tree.

He had to move. He had to get to higher ground, before the Avengers could spot him.

Staggering his way uphill, he eyed the sky above him. He saw red.

The Scarlet Witch had covered the entire region in a red energy force field. A giant red dome. One touch of the red, and he'd be as good as dead. There was nowhere to run, that much he knew.

But it didn't matter.

Running was the last thing on his mind.

* * *

He hurled himself into a nearby shrub the moment his ears picked up the sound of whirling repulsors somewhere above his head.

He held his breath and lay as still as he possibly could.

The sound of repulsors grew louder by the second.

No. No. No. This wasn't possible. They couldn't possibly find him. His special suit would block out any infrared radiation emitted from his body. Nothing could detect his presence, not even Iron Man's thermal imaging. This couldn't be possible. It couldn't be.

He sighed in relief when the sound of repulsors slowly petered out. He heard the Hulk's roar somewhere at a distance. And immediately, he realized what was happening.

The Avengers were regrouping. They were gathering. And just as he had foreseen, they were probably gathering at the ruins of the destroyed base.

He had to move fast.

There was no time to waste, not a second more to lose, not if he was to successfully complete his mission.

He got out of the shrub and ran as fast as his weak legs could carry him. Up the slope, through the frosty woods, towards his destination.

* * *

He was out of breath when he reached his destination. He settled his back against the massive boulder, trying to catch his breath. Due to adrenaline, he could no longer feel the pain which accompanied his injured body. Perfect. Just what he needed. The less distractions the better. His mission held no room for distractions.

Distractions meant chance of failure.

And failure wasn't an option.

Peeking through the sizable crevice of the boulder, he eyed the lower grounds, towards the direction where he had climbed from. He could see the destroyed base again. Clearer this time, since the smog had cleared away.

He was right.

The Avengers were all gathered near the ruins.

Some of them were speaking. Some of them were listening.

Perfect.

With great effort, he hefted the weapon and slipped it into the gap of the crevice. It took him a minute to finally get the weapon settled in place.

He peered into the weapon's scope, scouring over his targets.

There were many to choose from. But he was interested in only one.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed the button that he knew would supercharge the weapon. The energy weapon hummed to life, giving the soldier a sense of satisfaction.

To the lone soldier, the humming of his weapon meant only one thing.

It meant the beginning of _order._

* * *

 _Weapon charging at 10%._

The soldier shifted the weapon until the crosshair fell onto the target's torso. Right at the center.

It would be a clean kill. A _necessary_ kill.

 _Weapon charging at 19%_

It was then that the lone soldier perceived a particular peculiarity concerning his target.

 _Weapon charging at 33%_

Where was the shield? The target didn't have his shield clipped on his back. Strange.

The lone soldier narrowed his eyes.

That couldn't be right...

Did he have the right target? He knew that the target was a shield bearer. So the shield must be somewhere there. It _must_ be.

 _Weapon charging at 45%_

He tore his gaze away from the weapon's viewing scope and took out his binoculars instead. Using the binoculars, he surveilled from afar. His gaze roaming across the field, going from Avenger to Avenger.

That iconic shield had to be there somewhere. It had to be.

He didn't stop looking until he finally found it.

He smirked.

 _Weapon charging at 59%_

The Black Widow had it. The shield was clipped onto the Black Widow's back.

 _Weapon charging at 62%_

The lone soldier dropped the binoculars and returned to his weapon.

 _Weapon charging at 70%_

Through his weapon's viewing scope, the lone soldier further scrutinized his target. The lone soldier's jaw clenched.

That, was the same man who had _twice_ defeated HYDRA. And, taking into account the burning wreckages which surrounded all the Avengers right then, _thrice_ would probably be a more fitting figure.

On normal occasions, the lone soldier would have looked upon the man with deep admiration. That man was a lethal weapon. A brilliant commander. And a deadly fighter. What a waste it was, to have to kill such a man. That man could have been HYDRA's greatest asset, greater than even the Winter Soldier.

That man could have been at the forefronts of HYDRA's ranks, commanding HYDRA's great forces.

But no, such idealizations did not exist. Instead of aiding HYDRA, that man became the bane of HYDRA.

Time and again, that man had been responsible for cutting off HYDRA's head.

But it mattered not.

Cut off one head, and another shall take its place.

 _Weapon charging at 89%_

HYDRA would grow. HYDRA will thrive. Soon, in the near future, HYDRA's new world order would be formed.

HYDRA would rear a new head.

 _Weapon charging at 95%_

The lone soldier settled his finger on the trigger. He pulled in a deep breath, the breath before the kill.

 _Weapon charging at 96%_

Three times had the enemy cut off HYDRA's head.

 _Weapon charging at 97%_

This time, it would be HYDRA's turn to cut off the enemy's head.

 _Weapon charging at 98%_

And the enemy's head was the shield wielder. The leader of the Avengers.

 _Weapon charging at 99%_

The lone soldier's mission was now a trigger away.

 _Weapon charged. Fire at will._

Before pulling the trigger, the lone soldier whispered.

"Hail HYDRA."


	2. Chapter 2: Take Flight

**Notes:**

This is the actual beginning of the story.  
Remember in CACW after the airport fight scene, there was a scene showing Natasha and Tony having a conversation at the compound? Yeah. This chapter picks up from there.

* * *

 _"Fly, you fools!" – Gandalf Greyhame, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R Tolkien._

* * *

If she was anywhere near the brink of falling apart, she didn't show it.

Not yet.

Not when there were still things that needed to be done.

Not when it was up to her to pick up the broken pieces; to clean up the spilt milk.

She would not fall, she thus willed herself.

Natasha Romanoff defined control.

She breathed composure and poise.

She was the Black Widow. And people could only see what she allowed them to see.

The Black Widow was a mask. A veil. A cloak that concealed her heart from prying eyes. A heart which was, right then, a seething cauldron; a brew of fear, trepidation, unease, and desperation.

Vulnerable. Her heart was vulnerable. It was at the brink of breaking, of pulverization. A volcano awaiting eruption.

But it mattered not.

As long as she was the Black Widow, she figured no one would know better.

And just like that, she'd don her mask. Her cloak of indifference. Her safety blanket.

Behind her alter-ego, she would be safe. Behind her alter-ego, she could hide. Behind her alter-ego, she could pretend that she was okay.

Like as if her world hadn't just flipped on its axis. Like as if she hadn't just a few hours ago witnessed her friends, her _family_ , tearing at each other's throats like a pack of blood-lusting cannibals.

Her mask was up, _for it was the only shield she had left that remained unbroken._

Everything else was broken.

* * *

The two Avengers stood at the veranda. Staring out into the green paddock which encircled the compound. Each engrossed in their own thoughts and reflections.

Birds chirped.

Recruits marched.

Doctors bustled.

The Earth continued its rotation, seemingly unperturbed by the weight of recent events.

It appeared routine. Just like another ordinary day at the New Avengers' Facility. Calm. Familiar. _Normal._

Except that it wasn't.

Because _everything_ had changed. Normal didn't exist anymore, at least for the Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

And right then, 'normal', was nothing but an illusion.

The Captain's denouncement marked the final stages of the endgame.

It was the end of the Avengers' Initiative.

The end, of an era.

What remained, was an empty shell of a compound, a ghost of its past. And a half-crippled teammate.

Her mouth opened, in a way that exuded aloofness.

She spoke.

"Steve's not gonna stop."

There was an unsettling calmness in her voice. A flat cadence.

Indifferent. Calm. Detached. Idiosyncratic Black Widow.

To the untrained ear, her words sounded more like a mere statement of fact. Cold. And uncaring.

But then again, they both knew better.

They both knew the exact tenor behind her words.

No. It wasn't a mere statement of fact.

It was a plea.

* * *

Birds twittered over the heads of the two Avengers, saturating the air with an illusion of normalcy.

The silence of her companion was unnerving, she realized, even more so than her own raging emotions.

His unresponsiveness appalled her. Almost as if he didn't care.

She tried again.

"If you don't rein in, then Rhodey's only gonna to be the best case scenario."

This time, however, her words found their mark, and her companion reacted.

But a sharp accusation was all she got in return.

"You let them go, Nat."

It was right then that the first crack formed on her Black Widow mask.

 _God, can't he see that this is beyond who's right and who's wrong anymore?_

"We played this _wrong._ "

Tony bristled, " _We_?! Boy. It must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? Sticks in the DNA."

The Black Widow mask splintered.

Wow. She had to admit, that stung. Even coming from Tony, that was a fucking low blow.

For a moment, Natasha Romanoff was stunned into silence. Stupefied by the incredulity of the situation, and by the behavior of her companion.

Another winged creature chirped above them.

"Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for _one GODDAMN_ second?" she seethed, finally realizing what a complete waste of time the conversation was.

Perhaps she should've seen this coming all along. After all, it wasn't like there'd be a day where Tony could stop being, well, _Tony._

Natasha's initial plan had been pretty straight forward. In her mind, she would approach Tony calmly, and then try to smooth things out. And perhaps (hopefully) talk some sense into him. After all, she pretty much had nothing to lose at that point anyway, so she figured she'd at least try. And hell, the best case scenario? She figured she might even be able to persuade Tony into helping Steve. What with the way things played out, she was pretty sure that Steve was heading straight into the jaws of death. As great as Captain America was, simultaneously taking on 5 physically enhanced super soldiers with Barnes as his only backup was way too risky. It was simply too much, even for someone with Steve Rogers' capabilities.

What if Barnes transformed into the Winter Soldier again? What then?

Could Steve survive a battle against _six_ Winter Soldiers?

She knew how strong Steve was, but still. Could he survive?

Why hadn't she thought of that at the hangar before she let Steve go?

Goddamnit. She shouldn't even be here. She should've gone along with Steve, wherever the hell he was off to. She should've been alongside Steve, watching his back, keeping him safe; not standing here, listening to Tony's relentless rants about double agents and DNAs.

She should've gone along with Steve.

She should've.

But she hadn't. And boy, was she regretting it now.

"T'Challa told Ross what you did. So, they're coming for you."

Yeah. Newsflash, there was _always_ somebody coming after her. She was popular like that.

Enough was enough.

"I'm not the one that needs to watch their back."

Natasha Romanoff turned on her heels.

She stormed out.

She didn't look back.

* * *

Screw the law. Screw the Accords. She needed to help Steve, even if she had to do it all on her own. She owed him that much, damn it. He had saved her life once. What good was she if she couldn't even return the favor? She had once promised him, that if it were down to her to save his life then she would do it a heartbeat. And it was a promise she intended to keep. But first, she had to disappear, fast. Couldn't imagine being helpful if she was locked up in some high tech underwater prison facility.

 _Hang in there, Steve…_

With every ounce of stealth she could muster, Natasha slipped past the facility's common room into her personal quarters. It took her merely fifteen minutes to stuff all her on-the-run essentials into a black duffel bag. Being a highly trained spy, she never really needed much anyway. She was trained to obtain whatever she needed from her surroundings, to blend in and hide in plain sight. Besides, travelling light definitely had its bonuses, especially for a fugitive. Her catsuit, her batons, her Widow's Bite, a few pieces of casual clothing, a big bundle of cash, two photo frames (each containing artworks which she treasured, Steve had drawn and given them both to her as a gift), a photostatic veil/nano mask, an electronic voice changer, a wig, a couple of fake passports and IDs, a pair of binoculars, a set of special contact lenses, a bunch of burner phones, 2 of her loaded Glock 26 handguns, her hacker's toolkit and a laptop; those were pretty much the contents of her duffel bag by the time she was done.

Dumping the bag on the bed, Natasha took a deep breath and mentally formulated a plan. She'd obviously need a vehicle. Stealing a quinjet would definitely be a no-go, since they were overly conspicuous (which kinda defeats the whole blending-in idea). Her only choice left would be her car parked in the facility's garage. Immediately, she fired up her laptop, hacked into the garage's video surveillance network and replaced the live security feeds with a dummy video (which may or may not be the garage's security footage from the day before). The dummy video provided her an approximate time window of 8 minutes to get to her car and drive off without being caught on tape. Not exactly a lot of time, but it would do. Without further delays, she grabbed her duffel bag off the bed and stormed towards the exit of her quarters. On the way out, she took out a bogus license plate which she kept hidden in her shoe drawer, and then made a dash for the garage.

* * *

Natasha's black Corvette Stingray was parked in its usual spot. A quick visual sweep found the garage to be clear of occupants. _Perfect._ She approached her vehicle, deftly swapped the original license plate with the bogus, destroyed her Corvette's GPS device, dumped her duffel bag onto the passenger seat and hopped onto the driver's seat. Once seated, she began working on her disguise. With practiced ease, she successfully donned her special contact lenses, her wig, and her nano mask/photostatic veil, all done in just under 1 minute. She had first obtained the nano mask years ago, when she impersonated the World Security Councilwoman in order to infiltrate the Triskelion in DC. The nano mask had since then become a necessary part of her spy kit. She did a second visual sweep of the garage to make sure that it was clear before hitting the ignition switch of her car. Shortly afterwards, she was speeding away from the New Avengers Facility at 205 miles per hour.

The nano mask altered her facial features, and with her wig on, she was just another excited blonde on a solo road trip, one who clearly didn't give a single fuck about getting a speed ticket. Not the best cover, admittedly, though that was all she could pull off given the time constraints she was placed under.

 _Espionage 101, hiding in plain sight. Check._

Ten minutes later, as Natasha took an exit leading from the compound into the main highway, she reached into her duffel bag and grabbed one of her burners to make a call. She needed aid. She mentally ran through her list of trusted contacts.

 _Nick? No. Too busy being dead. Can't risk blowing his cover._

 _Hill? No. She works at the Avengers' facility, with the Accords in action, the government will be watching her every move like a hawk. Can't risk it._

Natasha made a split second decision and dialed a familiar number.

The call connected on the second ring.

"About damn time, Natasha."

"Phil, how much do you know?"

"Enough to be expecting your call." Coulson replied tersely.

"Laura and the kids, are they safe?" Natasha asked without ado. There was an uncharacteristic quiver in her voice as she addressed her foremost concern.

She held her breath, awaiting Phil's response.

Apprehension chomped away at her insides, making her feel sick to her stomach. For a second there, she thought she might actually throw up all over the dashboard. By some miracle, she didn't.

Phil had the line on hold, possibly to make some calls to his agents. At the thought of that possibility, Natasha felt the tight knot in her stomach ease a little. At least Phil already had a couple of his loyal agents watching over Clint's family.

Thing was, Natasha had absolutely zero doubt that the government would be _zealously_ digging up everything about Clint as of then, just because they had then a _legit_ excuse to do so, what with Clint being labeled a 'criminal' and all. Yes, Natasha knew all about the humongous efforts Fury had made in order to keep Laura and the kids hidden from the rest of the world, and, well, since it was the work of _Nick Fury,_ then the Barton Homestead was surely the safest place on planet Earth for any of them.

But still…

She couldn't rest until she'd known for sure. She just had to know.

 _Please be safe. Please be safe. Please be safe._

The line reconnected, and Coulson's voice drew her attention back into their conversation.

"They're fine. My agents have visuals on them." said Coulson through the line.

Natasha released the breath she had been holding. Time seemed to unfreeze and tick away at a normal rate once again.

She exhaled, "Thank God."

"Don't worry, the farm isn't compromised, Natasha. At the moment, I've got Lance and Morse watching the farm 24-7. At least until the fallout dies down. Look at it this way, as far as the world is concerned, the Barton household is pretty much non-existent, so it shouldn't be a problem. But I'll keep a lookout just in case." Coulson reassured.

"Thanks, Phil." Natasha sighed in relief. The last thing Natasha wanted was to see Clint's family – which she had come to see as her own over the years – dragged into this whole fiasco.

"Cap?" Coulson asked, his voice laced with an uncanny mixture of awe and concern. _Big surprise there._

"He's alive, but I don't know Phil…"

"Is he in danger?"

Natasha snorted.

"Yeah well, he wasn't when I last saw him. But he might as well be, considering the guys that he's going after. He's outgunned _AND_ outnumbered, Phil."

"Who's he after?" Coulson inquired, undoubtedly beginning to sense the onset of a dreadful situation, one that could possibly lead to the loss of America's champion.

"If Barnes is right, _five_ other Winter Soldiers. All serum enhanced physiologies. Highly trained killers." Natasha responded.

"Wait, what?"

"I said Cap's tracking down 5 Winter Soldiers." Natasha snapped.

"What the hell? Two years ago, _one_ of them wreaked enough havoc to nearly destroy DC… and now you're tellin' me that there're _five_ more of them?"

"Yeah…looks like HYDRA had been busy right under our noses, Phil." said Natasha gravely.

" _Jesus._ "

Natasha scoffed, "Are you really that surprised? It's _HYDRA_ we're talkin' about here."

"Okay… So, you're saying that Cap is off somewhere to take on these guys…"

"Yep."

"As in right now… or? How long ago was this?"

"He took off in a quinjet when Tony and I confronted him at the airport. I'd say that was about 3 hours ago."

"Damn it." Coulson swore under his breath.

Natasha remained silent.

"And? Who's with him? Tell me that he'd at least brought a team with him…"

"Only Barnes." Natasha answered grimly.

"Shit."

The atrociousness of the situation finally dawned in on Coulson.

"What about Stark?" Coulson asked after taking a calming breath.

"Shell-head still thinks that Steve's wrong. Doesn't believe Steve's story either. He thinks that Barnes had manipulated Steve. Look, we can't count on Stark or any of the others in the compound right now. The only people that we can count on are either, (A) underwater, or apparently, (B) on the run." Natasha replied wryly.

"Think Barnes can be trusted?" Coulson asked, though his tone held not a single shred of optimism.

"Cap seemed to trust him." Natasha sighed into the speaker, "And frankly, given HYDRA's history, I think those leads that Barnes gave him are worth following through. But I still don't like it, Phil. It's too goddamn risky. You know, that fake UN psychiatrist? He was the real reason Barnes was able to break free from the containment cell in Berlin. I know 'cause I was there. This guy knows how to activate the Winter Soldier. All he needs to do is to get a few words into Barnes head, and Barnes would be a goner. Worse, if Steve's right about the psychiatrist being the one behind all of this, then the bastard's probably gonna be there, wherever Steve's headed to, just waiting for Cap and Barnes to show up. What if he tries to turn Barnes into the Winter Soldier again? If that happens, Cap will be up against _six_ supersoldiers all on his own, Phil… _Six._ It's suicide." Natasha explained, not even bothering to hide the dread in her voice.

Coulson sighed gravely.

"Well, it's too late to worry about that now. We're gonna have to bank on the fact that Rogers knows what he's doing, Natasha. After all, he's Captain America." Coulson said, and with no less amount of pride too at the end.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

 _Ever the President of the Captain America fan club._

" _God,_ I sure hope you're right this time, Phil."

"What about Cap's location? Can you trace it?" Coulson asked hopefully.

"I know a way, but I need to get to a safe-house first, and fast. I can't just stop anywhere. The government's got their eyes trained on me and their eyes are _everywhere_. Plus, I'd need that old tracking software that I had written for SHIELD ages ago, oh, and a secure laptop. Actually, I was kinda hoping you could provide me with the tools." Natasha answered.

"Got a safe-house in mind?"

"Clint's farm. That's safe enough for me, since you said it isn't compromised. Plus, I gotta deliver a message to Laura." Natasha replied brusquely.

"Alright. Just make sure that you're not followed."

Another eye roll from the red head.

"What am I, a rookie?" Natasha responded with unmasked exasperation.

She knew that Phil meant well, but, _sheesh_ , he could at least have a _little_ faith in her adept in espionage – a skill which she had honed to its absolute zenith by the time she was only 13, mind him.

"Look, a little friendly warning doesn't hurt given so much at stake and you know how important this is, Natasha. The farm's top secret, Fury went through great lengths to keep it that way." Coulson chastised. His tone firm and calm. Fatherly.

 _Typical Coulson._

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, watch my six, go on stealth, yada, yada, yada, I think I got it." Natasha sassed. Natasha had almost added 'dad' at the end, but had restrained her sassiness by just a _teeny-weeny_ bit. Not exactly a good idea to piss off her one and only aide after all.

"What else you need?" Coulson broached the real reason for her call.

Wasting no time, the spy rattled off the items from the mental checklist she had made while she was making a beeline for the garage back at the compound.

"A quinjet capable of stealth mode stocked with weapons and food supply, a secure hideout outside the States that can accommodate at least 10 people, and a SHIELD issued laptop." Natasha demanded.

"Done."

"Oh, and don't forget to get me a copy of that tracking software I mentioned before." Natasha added as she maneuvered the Corvette skillfully around the highway traffic.

"Affirmative. I'll make sure it's included in that laptop you asked for."

The corvette sped past a Black SUV before the road was clear again.

"Thanks, Phil. Hey, listen, I gotta go. Can you pull some strings from behind? Throw them off my back, at least for a while?" Natasha asked as a final favor, keeping her eyes trained on her rearview mirror until the SUV was no longer in sight.

"No problem, Natasha. You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Send my love and thanks to your love birds, would you?" Natasha sighed, feeling monumentally grateful for the two loyal agents who were watching over Clint's farm for threats. After all, if Coulson trusted the two agents, then she could be damn sure that Laura and the kids were in good hands.

"Huh?" Coulson paused for a good 2 seconds, "Oh. You mean Lance and Bobbi?"

Natasha smirked, and said drily, "No. I meant you and Melinda."

Coulson cleared his throat harshly, or rather, _disapprovingly_. Another obvious indication for her to rein in her sass. Oops.

She rolled her eyes, "Of _course_ , I meant Lance and Bobbi."

"Message received. I'm sure they'd love to hear from you anyway. Anything else you need?"

"Nah. I'm good for now. Thanks again, Phil. I owe you."

"You're welcome. Godspeed, Romanoff. Stay safe."

The call ended with a click, and Natasha chucked the burner phone onto the passenger seat, albeit a little more forcefully than necessary.

Natasha's fingers tightened against the steering wheel as the stress of her situation began catching up to her.

Her whole world was about to crash, _again._ The people she had come to think of as family were torn apart because of some bureaucratic agenda; the whole goddamn world was trying to put her in jail; her best friend (who also happen to be a devoted husband and a father of 3) was incarcerated in a friggin' _underwater_ _container_ ; Steve, the man she lov… _CARED ABOUT_ (sheesh, no idea where that came from… but it definitely _wasn't_ a Freudian slip. Nope. Definitely wasn't) was about to face off a squad of 5 _highly trained, physically enhanced_ super soldiers with only _one_ mentally unstable, brainwashed war buddy (who _also_ happen to be _another_ highly trained, physically enhanced assassin _, with_ a freaking _metal arm,_ by the way) as his backup. Yeah, like that's gonna end well. And to pile more shit on her already ridiculously shitty shit pile of a situation, her misbehaving and devilish inner voice had then and there decided to come out and play. And no, they never play nice. The taunting of her inner demons slipped past her mental fortresses before she could even stop them.

 _"You deserve this life for all the red in your ledger…Natalia…you deserve this…"_

 _"Nothing bodes well for anyone associated with you…you exist only to stain your ledger with blood. You're a born killer, Natalia…"_

 _"Your ledger is about to go redder…..if it is even possible for it to be any redder than it already is..."_

 _"Everything about you is red, Natalia…Blood red…"_

 _"You are dripping with blood, Natalia… every single part of you…"_

 _"Black Widow… RED Widow… DROWNING in blood…"_

 _"Can you wipe out that much red…?"_

 _"This is all your doing, Natalia!"_

 _"All their blood is on your hands…"_

 _"Steve's blood is on your hands…"_

 _"Your hands…stained…with Captain America's blood…it will be your greatest sin by far…"_

 _"An unforgivable sin…"_

 _"You're a monster…Natalia."_

 _"It's all your fault, Natalia."_

 _"This is all your doing…"_

 _"You let him go without enough backup…"_

 _"You led Captain America to his DEATH…you monster…"_

 _"The death of Captain America… by YOUR HANDS!"_

 _"This is MY bargain, you mewling quim!"_

Natasha gasped out loud.

SCREECH!

Natasha slammed her foot on the brakes, bringing the Corvette Stingray to an abrupt, smoke-trailing halt.

 _Okay. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck!_

 _Why now of all times, damn it! I've got no time for this shit._

 _STOP IT. Please, not NOW._ She chastised herself.

She really needed to pull herself together, Steve needed her, and she couldn't allow herself to fall apart, not this time. Two sets of beautiful fingers clenched tightly on the Corvette's leather clad steering wheel. So forceful were the grips that her knuckles turned yellowish-white in hue. She slammed her head against the headrest and took several calming breaths.

 _Block them out. Rationalize. Now you've got a chance to clear your ledger, and that's by helping Steve, trade your life for his if necessary._ Natasha thought to herself as she fought vehemently against her mental demons.

She wondered how many times she had fought this same battle over the years.

How many times had her mind taunted her to the brink of insanity?

Then again, she supposed she wouldn't know. Pretty sure she had lost count ever since… ever since… when exactly? Sao Paolo? The children's hospital? Or was it ever since she killed Drakov's daughter? God, how could she ever forget the face of that lifeless little girl? That haunted look with a gaping bullet hole between her eyes. That little girl never stood a chance when it all happened, when _the Black Widow_ happened _._

A minute later, upon realizing that parking a _sports car_ in the middle of a _highway_ would probably rouse unnecessary suspicion, Natasha shifted her car in gear and sped off once again.

 _Get a fucking grip, Romanoff. You are a highly trained super spy for heaven's sake. Keep your emotions in check._

Natasha's mind crunched away rapidly, matching the engines of the Corvette rev-per-rev as the vehicle picked up speed. How the fuck did everything come to this? Where did it all go wrong? Just 2 days ago they were carrying out a mission as usual, _them_ , as a team, _a family._ And now they were _nothing._ Nothing but ashes that were left trailing behind a blazing inferno. Piece by piece her world had collapsed before her own eyes, in series, like a chain of toppling dominoes.

Something must have triggered this domino effect. What was it?

Grateful to have something to occupy her mind as she drove, Natasha began thinking. Her mind worked furiously. Rationalizing, analyzing, and dissecting every event leading up to this hellhole.

Eventually, Natasha realized in hindsight, that _she_ was really the one who had pushed the first domino after all. This all started because of her.

Here was how it all happened. It was all due to a hunch that she had about 3 weeks ago…

That night 3 weeks ago, they were sitting in Steve's office back at the compound, both her and Steve, pouring over intel. It was one of those frustrating nights where they hit dead ends everywhere until they eventually stumbled upon gold…

 _Captain America leaned back abruptly in the chair and raked his hands through his blonde hair, "Any new sightings on Rumlow?"_

 _"Nope. Nothing. No new hits on facial recognition either." Natasha said after double checking the displays on her tablet._

 _"Damn it!" Steve blew out a sigh of frustration, "15 months, Nat. We've got the FBI, the CIA and Interpol all putting out BOLOs on him for 15 months now, yet we're still nowhere close to getting a real location. I mean I know he's a killer, but I've never really pegged him as a ghost until now."_

 _"He's ex-HYDRA, Steve. Which means he's good at hiding. After all, they hid themselves within SHIELD for decades without anyone noticing." Natasha dropped her tablet onto the desk and rubbed her eyes tiredly, "And besides, there's only so much that facial recognition could do when the subject's face is acutely damaged." She managed a wry smile at her Captain._

 _"How about this? What if we bring in a few HYDRA rats and let Wanda tap into their minds. Maybe they'd know something. Safehouse locations, rendezvous points. Those are valuable intel we could use to find him. Rumlow might've defected from HYDRA, but he still used to be one of them. Who knows, he might have been stealing HYDRA resources for his own use?" Steve ranted._

 _She picked up her tablet again, "That's actually a good idea. But, I don't think Wanda's ready to push her powers to that stage yet. Remember that it took her months just to perfect her telekinesis. And the training completely wore her out, Steve. I'm afraid her body couldn't take it. And plus, we still haven't fully figured out the side effects her powers might've have on her physiology. So, I'm worried that if we push too far, then…"_

 _"Yeah. I know. I know. There are risks…"_

 _Natasha smiled, "Maybe sometime in the future…I don't think now's the right time. As for Rumlow, we'll find him, Steve. Trust me, he can't hide forever. Sooner or later, something will draw him out and he'd make a mistake."_

 _Steve nodded while Natasha's attention returned to her tablet._

 _"There's gotta be something that we're missing though…" Steve drawled._

 _Natasha went silent as she scrolled through some documents on her tablet. Her eyes danced around rapidly as she read._

 _Steve watched her._

 _"What do we have so far?" Steve prompted._

 _"Nothing solid. But I think Interpol compiled a pretty decent report yesterday… Have you read it?" Natasha said without looking up from the screen._

 _"You mean the one about some masked terrorist/ illegal arms dealer?"_

 _"Yeah. That's the one."_

 _"I read it. Interpol claimed a 95% match with Rumlow's physical profile…"_

 _"95% is a pretty good figure. FRIDAY even verified the math." said the spy._

 _"I know. But that's still a long shot, Nat. There's gotta be hundreds of people all over the world with that same profile. We don't even know if it's really him."_

 _Natasha hummed noncommittally, still staring intensely at the document on her tablet, zealously studying the contents displayed on its screen._

 _The Captain narrowed his eyes, "You disagree…"_

 _Natasha finally looked back up at him, her eyes dead serious, "I think Interpol's onto something."_

 _Steve's eyes lit up, "You think it's him."_

 _"And with good reasons. Check this out." Natasha waved the tablet in the air, "FRIDAY, can you give us access to the holography for this, please?"_

 _"Right away, Miss Romanoff."_

 _The report by Interpol was enlarged and displayed in hologram form. The hologram hovered several inches above Steve's desk._

 _"Okay, Nat. What are we looking for?" Steve sat up straighter._

 _"Check out the timing of the masked terrorist's first appearance. Notice anything strange?"_

 _For several seconds, The Captain stared silently at the hologram. Two more seconds ensued until it finally clicked._

 _"Hey… Isn't that around the same time when SHIELD collapsed?"_

 _"And also, take a look at this report by the FBI." Natasha said, passing the tablet over to Steve._

 _"This is… wait… this is the report about the assault on the nurse and-"_

 _Natasha interjected, "And the death of the FBI agent assigned to watch over Rumlow at the hospital. FBI planned to take Rumlow into custody the moment he wakes. So they stationed an agent in his room. Next thing they knew, the agent was found strangled to death, with Rumlow missing. But here's the interesting part. Take a look at the date of the reported incident."_

 _Understanding dawned on the Captain._

 _"Son of a gun…"_

 _"Yeah. Interpol's reported date of the masked terrorist's first sighting is only 4 days AFTER the date of the FBI agent's murder. That can't be a coincidence, Steve."_

 _"So it's him."_

 _"Pretty sure."_

 _"Good eye, Nat. I can't believe I missed that." The Captain eyed his co-leader with admiration and respect._

 _The spy smirked and moved to pick up the discarded tablet._

 _She joked, "You sure seem to catch on pretty quickly for an older fella…"_

 _Steve chuckled, "What more did Interpol give us? Anything that can help us trace him?"_

 _"Nothing useful…" Natasha drawled as she scrolled through the document, "uh…just a bunch of detailed reports on each sightings of the masked terrorist." Natasha snorted a little, "And, pretty much all of them involves illegal weapons."_

 _"Why would an ex-HYDRA agent suddenly end up running an arms cartel? It doesn't fit the previous M.O." the Captain shook his head._

 _"Well, that's just how it is, according to Interpol. And as far as I can tell, it's pretty consistent. I mean, check out what he's done over the last 2 years. This guy raids military bases all over the world, and almost all of the raided bases had had their armories emptied out. He intercepts shipments too, just 7 months ago, he intercepted a cargo ship travelling across the Atlantic to Europe. Take a guess at the cargo's contents."_

 _"Weapons?"_

 _The spy nodded, "Tanks, fighter jets, assault rifles, bazookas. That shipment's got everything. But he only took the small stuff. Only the rifles, the bazookas and some explosives were missing from the shipment."_

 _"I guess that makes sense. You can't exactly go into hiding with a couple of tanks in tow." Steve said drily._

 _"Yeah. But the point is, it's always the same M.O. He'd organize attacks on cargo ships, military bases, weapons factories and etcetera. It's always someplace that had to do with weapons. It's clear that he's stealing weapons."_

 _"Even so, Nat. That doesn't narrow it down enough for us to find him. Okay, so now that we know he's going after weapons, and more specifically, he's targeting military bases. But there are thousands of military bases all over the world. We can't cover them all. And weapons shipments? There're probably millions of those every day. At this point, we're still grasping at straws." The Captain leaned back in his chair._

 _"Yeah. But this is still the best lead we've got so far. I plan to look further into this."_

 _"We need to find a pattern. Maybe FRIDAY can help us." Steve suggested._

 _"See that's the problem, Steve. There aren't any patterns at all." Natasha made two quick swiped at the screen, "Even if we look at –"_

 _Natasha froze._

 _"Nat?"_

 _Her face wore an intense expression by the time she looked up._

 _"Nat? What is it? I know that look. You have something."_

 _"I uh… it's just a hunch. It could be nothing…"_

 _"Come on, Nat. You and I both know that your hunches are never just nothing. So, let's hear it."_

 _"It says here that 5 months ago was the last time Interpol had had any sightings of Rumlow." Natasha stared pointedly at the Captain._

 _"5 months ago?" Steve raised his brows, "And then?"_

 _"And then he went completely radio silent."_

 _"Inactive? For FIVE months?" said Steve skeptically._

 _"Yeah. Just look." said Natasha, the tablet held out in front of her._

 _Steve frowned, "That's weird."_

 _"That's what I thought too. I mean, Interpol had been doing a pretty good job keeping tabs on him so far. But ever since 5 months ago? There're just no more sightings of him. And get this, Rumlow's activities had been pretty consistent over the last two years. His attacks always happened twice every month. Sometimes even up to three times a month. But here's the thing, he never went radio silent for more than a month."_

 _Steve leaned forward, "But now he's been quiet for 5 months. A break in his pattern."_

 _Natasha nodded, "So either he's dead or…"_

 _Steve caught on, "Or he's laying low and planning something big."_

 _"Think about it, Steve. That question you asked before. Why would an ex-HYDRA agent suddenly involve himself in arms-dealing? I mean, he could've gone off grid with nobody ever tracing him, but instead he went around organizing terrorist attacks? And raiding shipments? Why draw all that attention to himself? And of all the things that he could be involved in, why weapons?"_

 _It didn't take long for the Captain to fully catch on to Natasha's insinuation._

 _Steve snapped his fingers, "Rumlow needed access to weapons. That's why he stole all those things… God, it all makes sense now. Rumlow's amassing firepower for some reason._

 _A brief silence ensued as Steve further contemplated the implications of their new insight._

 _"He needs those guns because he's planning a bigger attack. And by running an arms cartel, he could pack on guns AND cash." Steve said a few seconds later._

 _Natasha added, "Not just that. He could've stolen all those weapons covertly without ever showing his face. But instead, he made sure that Interpol caught glimpses of every single one of his activities? A bit strange, don't you think?"_

 _"You saying he's drawing attention to himself on purpose?" Steve asked._

 _"Yeah. It's like putting out a calling card. And you know what that means, Steve…"_

 _Steve closed his eyes in realization, "He's recruiting…"_

 _"Shit. We might be running out of time. He's 5 months ahead of us." Natasha stated gravely._

 _"Damn. But we're still nowhere close to finding him, Nat. Now that he's got enough weapons stocked up, his next target could be anything, heck, it might not even be linked to weapons anymore. We've got no real leads. Not even a place to start."_

 _Natasha sighed, "No, there's gotta be somewhere we could start looking. I mean, if he's really planning something big, then he's got to have a systematic approach to all his ops, right? Like some sort of general direction that he's headed towards or-"_

 _Once again, Natasha froze, and her gaze immediately found Steve's._

 _They stared at each other and smiled. It was a smile that indicated that they had both figured it out._

 _"His last known location." They both said together._

 _"Bingo. That's where we start. If he's got something planned, it'd make perfect sense that he would work towards the location of his next target." Natasha said as she flipped through the tablet again._

 _Steve nodded in agreement, "Right. It simplifies the logistics."_

 _"Exactly. Hey, Steve, look at this. It says here that his last attack was at some Marine base in Nigeria. It's called Ukpokiti Marine Terminal."_

 _"What's the damage?"_

 _"Dead soldiers. Burnt buildings. It's his usual M.O., an open attack in broad daylight."_

 _"Christ. That's exactly like you said, Nat. He's drawing attention to himself. Did he steal anything?"_

 _"Yeah. One truck. One tank. And guns."_

 _"Nigeria." Steve steepled his fingers, "If we could get a list of all possible targets…"_

 _"Right there with you, Steve. FRIDAY?"_

 _"How may I be of assistance, Miss Romanoff?"_

 _"We need a list of potential targets for terrorist attacks in Nigeria. Can you compile that list for us? Oh, it's best if we could get data on the locations as well. Coordinates, addresses, as much details as you can possibly get." Natasha ordered._

 _"The specifics?" FRIDAY asked._

 _Natasha thought for a while before answering, "Focus the search on locations within a 100 kilometer radius from Ukpokiti Marine Terminal. Pay special attention to major events within the area of search. Like festivals, conferences, group celebrations, well, basically those things that involve lots of civilians. Those could be targets-"_

 _Steve interrupted, "You're thinking some form of mass destruction or massacre?"_

 _"Think about all the weapons he stole on his previous raids. C-fours? Bazookas? Explosives? And don't forget the tank he took from the marine base. I'd say that it's more than just a possibility, Steve. Rumlow's aiming for maximum casualty."_

 _Steve nodded, "FRIDAY?"_

 _"Yes, Captain Rogers?"_

 _"I wanna know if there are any high-end shipments going into Nigeria." Steve ordered before turning back to address Natasha, "we can't overlook the possibility that he might be there to steal something again."_

 _"Any specifics regarding the shipments, Captain?" FRIDAY prompted._

 _"Weapons? Cash? Anything that might be of interest to an international terrorist." said Steve._

 _Ten minutes later, they struck gold._

 _"Miss Romanoff, Captain Rogers, I have something. It seems that there's a heavily guarded shipment bound for Lagos. More specifically, it's headed for the IFID headquarters in Lagos."_

 _"IFID…Institute For Infectious Diseases." Natasha drawled before her eyes widened in recognition, "Steve, bio weapons…"_

 _Steve tensed up._

 _"FRIDAY. When's the payload due?" Steve asked._

 _"ETA 3 weeks from now. It will first arrive by ship, and then it'll be transferred to the HQ via a military convoy." FRIDAY reported._

 _"What about details regarding the payload? Did you find anything?"_

 _"None available, Captain."_

 _"So it's top secret…" Steve said, throwing Natasha a knowing look._

 _"Bingo. We've nailed him, Steve. Finally."_

 _"Not yet." Steve shook his head, "We can't just walk in there. It's still their turf. An unchartered territory to us. We might need more time to plan."_

 _"Steve, relax. We've got 3 weeks. That's plenty of time."_

 _Steve nodded, "I suppose that's enough for us to plan and execute a recon mission-"_

 _"I only need 2 days." Natasha interjected, throwing a pointed gaze at her Captain._

 _Steve's features hardened, "Wait a minute...are you saying…Oh, no. No. No. Don't even think about it."_

 _"What? Just send me in. I can get us all the intel we need. Easy."_

 _"No! Absolutely not. Not this time." Steve said resolutely._

 _Natasha stiffened._

 _"Why not? We need intel. And I can get us intel."_

 _Steve hissed, "Jesus. I'm not sending you in ALONE into enemy territory. If I do that, then I might as well just shoot you where you're sitting right now."_

 _"Are you taking me off this mission?" Natasha bristled._

 _"NO! I'm not against you being a part of this recon. I'm just sayin' that there are alternatives. You don't have to go in alo-"_

 _"You and I both know that this is better off being a solo recon." Natasha cut him off, her brows raised in challenge._

 _Steve's_ _tone was firm, "But think about the contingencies! This isn't your run-in-the-mill mission, this is too high-end. So, no, Nat, you ain't risking your life like this. Not on my watch. I'm sending a team with you."_

 _"Steve, the more people you send in, the more likely it is for us to spook them. Once spooked, God knows they'd be in the wind again. Is that really what you want? Another 15 more months to track him down?"_

 _Steve shook his head, saying nothing, knowing that she had hit the mark._

 _"This is the best lead we have on Rumlow for months, we can't let this go to waste." Natasha prodded again._

 _Steve sighed, "Nat…"_

 _"Look, if there's anyone who can pull this off, it's me. I'm the best person for the job. I speak their language, I can blend in, talk to the locals, scout the terrain. Maybe even find out where Rumlow is hiding in Lagos-"_

 _"Damn it, Natasha! If we're right about all of this, then Rumlow's been holed up in there for 5 months already. He knows the place, he knows the people. Hell, he's probably got eyes all over Lagos by now. Think about it, he's got MONTHS of advantage over you. Going in alone is RECKLESS."_

 _"Aren't you forgetting who I am?" she smirked._

 _Steve glared at her, "Well, you see, that's just the thing, Nat. No. I haven't forgotten. Picture this. A beautiful, white, Russian woman, chatting with the locals somewhere in Lagos and IN LOCAL TONGUE. Tell me that's not gonna rouse suspicion."_

 _Natasha's smirk widened, "I could use the Nano Mask. It'd alter my facial appearance, including skin color. And I've got the perfect accent. No one would notice."_

 _"OR…" Steve challenged, "We could send Vision. He could go through walls, has a freaking vibranium body, and he had access to FRIDAY, and-"_

 _Natasha shook her head disapprovingly, "Vision's got zero experience in espionage. He wouldn't be able to handle this mission."_

 _Steve's face softened in defeat. She could tell that he was worried, it was written all over his face. Truth be told, it warmed her a little, knowing how much he cared, knowing that he valued her life over the mission._

 _"Take Barton with you. I'd be more comfortable if there's at least someone there watching your back. Barton's a top-class spy. He'd be able to maintain cover without tipping Rumlow off." he said finally, his toned resigned._

 _"Steve, I know you're worried. But you gotta greenlight this mission for me, okay? I need to infiltrate Lagos, alone. This is my forte. I can do this. Trust me. Please." she said unwaveringly._

 _Steve sighed, "Fine. 36 hours, Nat. And then you're out of there. We clear?"_

 _"48."_

 _"36. That's final. Take it or leave it."_

 _"Deal."_

 _"I'll call for a briefing tomorrow and let the team know." Steve said and dropped his gaze to his lap, his expression unreadable._

 _Natasha stood up, walked over, bent down, and planted one on his left cheek._

 _"Thank you for trusting me, Steve. I won't let you down."_

 _She was headed towards the door before she felt Steve's strong grip on her wrist._

 _"You sure about this?"_

 _"Yeah," she smirked, "It's gonna be fun."_

Well. So, there was that. That was how they came to realize that Rumlow had been hiding somewhere in Lagos, which in turn led to her little solo recon mission.

Oh, and she totally _nailed_ that mission, by the way. Poor bastards never stood a chance. With 5 months of advantage over her, you'd think that they'd at least give her a bit of a challenge. But pfft, by the time she completed her mission, she hadn't even brought out her A-game yet. Idiots.

What? Like she said, she was _good_ at this shit. She knew where and how to look. If you're looking for information (like literally any non-digital information), the first place to look would be among the homeless street dwellers, of course. They'd know everything; from faces to vehicles that ever passed by the streets and even to dark trades going on in the underworld. Seriously, these guys know their shit. And most importantly, they respond well to, uh, _incentives._ Wouldn't take much more than a few pennies for them to start spilling their guts to you. Toss them a few more and they'd even point you to the right places. Well, that was kinda how she found out that a _certain_ facially distorted, white, Caucasian male was spotted lurking around in the slums of Lagos. She even found out the exact location Rumlow had been hiding: it was some squalid, third-rate apartment. And voila. In less than 12 hours, she was out of there, and with all the intel they needed.

By the time she returned to the compound, she literally had to put her hand under Steve's jaw to prevent it from dropping onto the floor. Seeing the look of pure shock and awe on her dear Captain's face… Hah! That was _gold_ (definitely worth every second spent crawling on the dirty streets of Lagos). Well, after she aced the recon, the rest was all black-ops, Steve's specialty. It was supposed to be a walk in the park. A simple extortion mission, nothing they hadn't done a hundred times before. Plus, with all the details they obtained from her recon mission and with 3 weeks' time for planning, they'd thought that it was pretty much a guaranteed success. Get in, BOLO the shit out of Rumlow and his goons, take them out while they make their move, extract Rumlow, and then lock 'em up. Voila. Easy peasy.

Well. Apparently, there was just one teeny-weeny bit of detail that had sort of slipped through her mind. Which was the fact that in their line of work, _nothing_ was ever _easy._

True enough, the mission went pear-shaped when Rumlow pulled a kamikaze on them. A fucking bomb vest. _That_ , was all it took to turn the entire mission (all 3 goddamn weeks of intricate tactical planning) into a legitimate cluster fuck which would probably make Charlie Foxtrot proud.

Brock Rumlow. A suicide bomber. A kamikaze. Seriously. Who would've even thought of _that_? Not the Avengers, obviously. And certainly not the 11 relief workers who were vaporized by the bomb vest.

As in any case involving civilian casualties, people just _had_ to find someone to blame. Actually, no, more like, people just had to put the blame on somebody _other_ than the actual perpetrator of the crime. The next thing they knew? Newsflash, the Earth's Mightiest heroes just became the Earth's Mightiest scapegoats! Get all the juicy details for 10 bucks per copy!

And then afterwards was truly the time when shit got real. The Accords. The thing that tore the Avengers apart.

In hindsight, Natasha realized that perhaps her heart had been with Steve all along. Yes, okay, there were certain risks in signing the Accords. That much she was willing to concede. Then again, she had seen it as some sort of middle ground, a necessary compromise for the Avengers to stick together. It was the only way for them to avoid a direct confrontation with governments worldwide. Was it so wrong, if she said she just wanted to keep the Avengers together? To keep her family safe? To keep _Steve_ safe? The Avengers were her family, her _world._ The team was everything she had. They were her everything. And a girl just wanted to protect her family, damn it. And at that point, the Accords truly seemed to be the only way to achieve that. At least nobody would start shooting at Steve if he played along, right? That was precisely why she had wanted, _needed_ , Steve to sign the Accords, for his own sake, and for the team's sake.

Simply put, Natasha had sided with Tony on the Accords because she thought that it was the safer side for everyone; Tony's side was the path of least resistance, the path of safety. There was, of course, a second motive for her siding with Tony on the Accords. She thought that by allying herself with the Accords, then she just _might_ (eventually) be able to convince Steve to hop onboard. Look, she wasn't blind, she knew just how much her opinions meant to Steve. It was pretty clear from the way Steve looked at her when she was explaining to the team about keeping one hand on the wheel and winning back the world's trust. The intense, hopeful and expectant look Steve gave her as she spoke showed just how much Steve valued her views. Somehow, during the brief time that they co-led the New Avengers, she had gotten so much closer to Steve. They had reconnected and rebuilt their friendship after Ultron. Yes, she knew that siding with Tony was a risky move, a move that could potentially obliterate Steve's trust in her, yet, she still held onto that tiny glimmer of hope that Steve would choose to stay on _her_ side, and, as a result give the Accords more thought.

In the end, it was obvious that she had completely underestimated Steve's compulsion to do what he believed was right. Well, he _was_ right, Natasha would give him that, but in this case, the right way was also one hell of a difficult – _and dangerous_ – path to tread across. It was the path of most resistance, a path which would lead to devastating consequences for the Avengers. Yet, Steve didn't falter, not even in the slightest bit. Guess she really should've seen that coming, considering how Steve's obstinacy had driven her nearly insane over the years.

Nevertheless, Natasha had kept at her role as the Steve-magnet to draw him over to the path of least resistance for as long as she could. But guess what? Even the Black Widow had her limits. The look of pure agony she saw on Steve's countenance when he and Barnes confronted her at the quinjet hangar was the final straw for Natasha. That was Natasha's limit. Back at the quinjet hangar, she had witnessed, up close, something that almost everyone had thought Captain America was incapable of. It was _fear_. It was _despair._ It was the fear that he would have to fight or hurt her in order to do what was right. It was the fear that he had to choose between what was right and the person he cared about. And at that moment at the hangar, as she caught a glimpse of pure terror in Steve's eyes, Natasha realized something. She realized that she couldn't do that to Steve, she couldn't put Steve through that torture. She just couldn't. She knew how painful it was for Steve to fight her, because goddamnit, she felt the same. She understood that pain. You really think that she could bring herself to fight Steve Rogers, a man whom she respected and cared for deeply? The mere thought of hurting Steve… just… _ugh_.

In the end, when she finally let him through, she was rewarded with a look of pure relief and gratitude from Steve. She saw the look of trust slowly crept back onto his face. And not just any trust, it was the trust in _her_ that she had seen returning to his face. Boy, did that feel good.

Anybody in her position would have just let Steve pass through and did nothing else. But she was never just anybody, she was the Black Widow, master of espionage. She had her own sneaky ways. The entire occurrence at the hangar had been a setup, it was all part of her plan. She had been stalling Steve and Barnes until T'Challa arrived behind them before she acted. When she shot T'Challa with her Widow's Bite, she had made both Steve and Barnes turn their heads. She then took advantage of their momentary distraction and shot a couple of tracking devices onto Steve's left boot. The devices were tiny, perhaps only about the size of a grain of rice. They were older tracking devices models that she had used back in her SHIELD days. Unfortunately, she couldn't access Steve's location right away because the devices' location data were encrypted in such a way that was only accessible through an obsolete tracking software that she had written years ago for SHIELD – which she had no immediate access to. Any hopes of knowing Steve's whereabouts would have to wait until Coulson provides her with the necessary tools.

Indeed, Natasha could have planted the latest, state-of-the-art Avengers-issued tracking devices on Steve, which would have granted her instant access to Steve's location. However, the master-spy within her knew better than to make that mistake. The thing about these newer models of tracking devices was that she wasn't the only person who had access to the GPS data they emit. Ross, the task force, and Tony; all of them could tap into Steve's location had she planted the latest model of tracking devices onto Steve. Under normal circumstances, that would have been favorable. However, given recent happenings, she highly doubted that Ross' task force would be there to serve as Steve's back-up. For all she knew, leading the task force to Steve's location would only paint more targets on his back.

For half an hour, Natasha navigated her car cautiously through the highway, constantly paying attention to see if she was tailed. She had passed by 3 or 4 cars, though none of them gave her any trouble thus far. She had even cranked up her car's audio system to the max just so she could maintain her cover as a crazy, excited blonde on a solo escapade to god-knows-where. Soon, Natasha spotted an exit that she knew would lead her to a secret passageway to Clint's farm. Taking the exit, she made a swift right turn. She followed the exit for another stretch until the scenery changed from flat lands to thick forests.

At the change of scenery, Natasha pressed lightly on the brakes, slowing her car down.

 _Time to focus, where is the mark?_

For a few seconds, she squinted and glanced hard to locate the special mark.

 _There._

It was a mark of a bow and arrow placed on one of the tree trunks _._ She took a swift glance at her rearview mirror and saw that there were no cars behind her. _Perfect._ Wasting no time, she stopped her car beside the marked tree and stared at the mark. A second later, the trees parted and a tunnel (an underpass to be exact) appeared. She checked her rearview mirror again before pulling into the secret passageway.

Her usual mode of transportations to Clint's farm were quinjets. Taking quinjets would undoubtedly be easier and safer. However, Hawkeye had insisted upon having this secret passageway constructed just in case of an emergency, so Fury made it happen – off the records, obviously. The only way for the special mark on the tree to be visible was through special contact lenses (the ones she had donned while she back at the compound's garage) owned only by specific people: namely, the Barton family, Fury, a few members of Coulson's team, Coulson, and Natasha herself. Hidden within the trunk of the marked tree was a special retinal scanner which only greenlights the aforementioned people.

The underpass was a 15-minute drive. It was an underground tunnel, with a diameter equivalent to the width of 2 standard SUVs. At the other end of the tunnel, lay a secret uphill path leading towards the farm. The moment her Corvette emerged from the other end of the tunnel, Natasha was confronted by a breathtaking scenery of tall and majestic trees on both sides of the path. Hawkeye's planning of the secret route was nothing but ingenious. The road was a narrow, uphill gravel path, surrounded by the thick layers of forest, hence keeping it obscured from anyone viewing from above. From above, the gravel path was completely blocked from view by the thick canopies of the forest. Fury had also ensured that the entire terrain (all the way until Clint's farm) remain outside any satellite coverage; meaning, the entire area was deliberately made to not appear on any satellite imaging data. It was therefore unlikely for anyone on the planet (other than the intended people) to have any access or knowledge to the existence of the entire region.

At the sight of the familiar terrain around her, Natasha felt the strain of the day slowly leave her body. Her mood, however, took a melancholic turn as she drove slowly uphill on the serpentine gravel path. She thought about the previous times she had to go on the run, and realized that it was 2 years ago, together with Steve, when they were headed to New Jersey on a pick-up truck. Then she thought back to DC; during the time she helped Steve take down HYDRA. She remembered distinctly her intimate conversation with Steve at Sam's apartment. How could she not? It was one of the very few times she felt…trusted, and by somebody as good and honorable as Steve Rogers. It was a memory that she would cherish for as long as she lived.

 _"I owe you."_

 _"It's okay." Steve replied with a light shake of his head. A weak smile forming on his handsome features._

 _"If it was the other way around…and if it was down to me to save your life, now you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?" Natasha asked, her eyes shining in anticipation of Steve's answer._

 _"I would now."_

As she replayed their conversation in her mind over and over again, the layers of trust shrouded behind Steve's words sank in. Steve Rogers _trusted_ her. _Her._ At that thought, Natasha was instantly rewarded with a much needed surge in morale. Having Steve's trust felt… comforting. It reminded her that she was still capable of some good in this world. It made her feel strong, powerful, and _virtuous._ It gave her hope.

A smirk slowly formed on Natasha's lips as another realization hit her.

 _That's what Captain America is really capable of. Inspiring people anywhere and anytime, even in spirit, so it seems._ She thought to herself.

As amusing as the thought sounded in her head, Natasha couldn't help but feel the undeniable truth behind it. There was World War 2, where Steve went from being a 'dancing monkey' promoting war bonds to the great commander who led the assault that took down the notorious Red Skull. And then, there was also that impressive battle speech he gave during the Insight Helicarriers' launch. That speech more than inspired a substantial number of loyal SHIELD agents to take a stand against HYDRA. Though the most prominent proof of all, in Natasha's opinion, had to be the Battle of New York, during the Chitauri invasion. How Steve had managed back then to get (A) a genius billionaire, (B) a _Prince_ from Asgard and (C) a green rage monster (basically a couple of guys with _massive_ egos) to follow his command in such a short timeframe still remained a mystery to Natasha, even after all these years; what about the fact that these guys had barely known each other for a day, and yet Steve had somehow gotten all of them to function as a coherent unit? Oh, and let's not forget the fact that at the time, Steve had _just_ recovered from being frozen in ice for nearly 70 years. If _that_ was the same guy who claimed to trust her with his life, then there would be no chance in hell that she was gonna let him down. Damn right, Steve trusted her with his life. She'd be damned if she allowed anything to happen to him. She'd get Steve the help he needed, save his ass, or at least, she knew damn well that she would die trying.

 _Steve, hang in there. Please. I'm gonna find you._ Natasha silently pleaded.

With her newfound resolve, Natasha stepped harder on the accelerator, thrusting her Corvette forward through the gravel path.


	3. Chapter 3: Safe Haven

_"The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." – Maya Angelou_

* * *

It took another 3 long hours before the gravel path ended. Natasha's Corvette emerged from the thick forest and entered a beautiful expanse of evergreen plateau. Taking her left hand off the steering wheel, she reached over to her side and toggled the power window switch. Her face was instantly met with a cool breeze which carried a grassy scent. Angling her head leftwards, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air, and was rewarded with an overwhelming sense of peace and calm, a rare homey feeling. From afar, she spotted Clint's familiar homestead. It was a wooden two-story farmhouse with a ridiculously large red chimney. She slowed down her car and began to mull over another problem that she had to face, a problem that had to be tackled with absolute care and delicacy: what to tell Laura and the kids?

Natasha was surprised that the question had completely slipped her mind throughout the entire journey to the farm. But in her defense, she was kinda on the run… and she had to keep watching her back in order to make sure that she wasn't followed…so she guessed it just…slipped her mind? Nevertheless, the problem was there, whether she liked it or not, and she was just gonna have to find a way to deal with it.

She drove slowly through the plateau and pondered for a good 10 minutes, trying to find the best way to broach the subject to Laura without inciting some sort of panic attack…or hysteria… or emotional breakdown from the latter. But then again, she ought to give Laura some credit. She knew how strong Laura Barton truly was, there was never any doubt about that. But the kids…

Natasha sighed in defeat. How to tell the kids without upsetting them? Now, _that,_ was a different story altogether.

As soon as the Clint's old garage (and the huge lake beside it) came into view, Natasha knew that she didn't have much pondering time left.

 _Screw it. Just give them the truth._ Natasha quickly decided.

Clint's family deserve the truth after all, _on second thought…_ maybe not the _whole_ truth… Okay, maybe she could give Laura _alone_ the whole truth, but sugarcoat it with the kids? Oh, hell, she might as well just tell Laura alone and just let Laura deal with the task of telling the kids.

 _Sounds like a good plan._

When Natasha pulled up in front of the house, she was quite surprised to see the garage's door already opened and Clint's pickup truck already parked outside, leaving an empty space in the garage for her car. Almost as if they were expecting her arrival and that they knew she needed to hide her car in the garage. For a split second, she panicked and rummaged her duffel bag for her handguns, fearing that the farm had been compromised after all, but then everything clicked.

 _Of course, Phil must have called ahead and told them I'd be arriving._

Natasha sighed in relief. Sheesh, she seemed _remarkably_ edgy today, a behavior that was so unlike her usual cool and composed character. Said behavior may or may not have something to do with the life threatening situation that a certain super soldier was then about to face. Just sayin'

Relieved, Natasha maneuvered her Corvette into the garage before killing the engine. She took off her photo static mask and blonde wig. Both items were subsequently stuffed into her duffel bag.

 _No point in giving Laura one heck of a scare with the disguise there._

Natasha took in her own reflection in the rear view mirror and tried to make herself look normal and composed – can't imagine what the kids would feel if she walked into the house looking like she had just fought down a squadron of Chitauri army _._ Once satisfied with her reflection, she zipped up her duffel bag, exited her car and the garage with her bag slung over her right shoulder. She swiftly closed the garage door with her left hand and strolled to the back door of the house. For the sake of normalcy, she actually _knocked_ instead of just picking the locks. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself for some serious explaining task ahead.

 _One second._

 _Two seconds._

 _Three seconds._

 _Four seconds._ The lock clicked open.

door opened on the fifth second, and Natasha was greeted by the sight of a beautiful brunette and by the pleasant smell of pancakes.

And on the sixth second, Natasha Romanoff could feel it in her bones. The promise of warmth, and comfort. Feeling the weight of her crumbled world easing off her shoulders, bit by bit, piece by piece.

On the seventh second, Natasha smiled a little.

She was home.

* * *

Laura Barton greeted her with a smile, "Nat! Phil called, said you were coming over."

 _Great, Phil kept it vague, leave it to poor me to deliver the hammer blow. Thanks a lot Phil._

Laura looked beautiful. Elegant. She carried herself with an air of sophistication and class, as always. To any untrained eye, Laura appeared cheery and nonchalant. Frankly, Laura could have fooled anyone with her acting, but not the Black Widow. Natasha saw through Laura's façade right away. She knew that there cannot possibly be cheer, or joy, behind Laura's haunted eyes. If nothing else, the bags under her eyes gave it all away. Laura was clearly overwrought, but was trying to keep up a cheery appearance. Odds were that it was all for the kids' sake.

Natasha noticed the way Laura threw a quick glance beyond the doorway, towards the space behind where Natasha stood. Subtle. But not subtle enough to elude the master spy.

 _She was looking to see if Clint was coming home with me. Damn it, this is so much harder than I thought._

The smile on Natasha's face faltered.

"Laura, hi. We need to talk, in private. Where are the kids?" Natasha said in response to Laura's greeting earlier.

"Um…Okay, yeah sure…we can talk, but you sound serious, is everything alright? And the kids, they are upstairs, I was just about to put them to bed. We just had dinner. Why don't you come in?" Laura rambled.

Natasha nodded before stepping in through the opened door.

Immediately, Laura pulled the other woman in for a hug.

"Nat, it's so good to see you… When Clint left, I couldn't stop worrying." Laura said before breaking their much needed embrace, ending the brief comfort.

"It's good to see you too, Laura. Listen, Clint's fine, I promise. But he can't come home just yet. I'll tell you everything once you put the kids to bed. I don't want them to overhear us. Everything's gonna be alright. Trust me." Natasha stated reassuringly.

Laura visibly relaxed upon hearing Natasha's words. After closing and locking the door, Laura guided Natasha towards the kitchen counter.

"You look worn, Nat." Laura stated worriedly all the while staring pointedly at the nasty bruises on Natasha's neck (courtesy of the Winter Soldier's metal arm). The act did not go unnoticed by the master spy.

"Don't worry, Laura, I'm okay. Just had a long day is all." Natasha reassured while giving Laura an appreciative smile.

 _It's nice to know that somebody actually cares about me or worries about my injuries._ Natasha thought as a warm, tingly feeling seeped through her heart.

"Hey, um, why don't I fix you some dinner from our leftover pancakes? Then you can help yourself to dinner while I go put the kids to bed?"

"Actually, that sounds great, Laura. Thanks."

"Okay, just sit tight. Dinner will be ready in a few."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Natasha sat alone at the kitchen counter nursing a plate of pancakes and a cup of green tea. Laura had gone upstairs to be with her kids. While she ate, Natasha took in the appearance of the house. The living room looked exactly the same, well, other than the presence of a new baby cradle beside the couch, which immediately reminded Natasha of the latest addition to Barton's family.

 _Nathaniel, of course._

Nathaniel was Hawkeye's youngest son who was born after Ultron's defeat a year ago. A sweet boy still in the early stages of life, basking in innocence; that stage of life which had been brutally taken away from young Natalia Romanova nearly two decades ago. Averting her gaze from the cradle, Natasha's sight landed on the coffee table where she saw newspapers (still opened) scattered messily across the entire table. A laptop with its lid opened sat atop the newspapers. Natasha was a sharp woman, one glance sufficed for her to put the pieces together. She didn't even need to walk over to the coffee table to figure out precisely what Laura had been doing for the past few days, and perhaps been doing just moments ago. Obviously, Laura had been searching, _frantically,_ for any news about her husband. And from Laura's demeanor, her searches were most probably fruitless. Unsurprisingly so. Since the government would probably want to keep the incarcerations of the members of the Avengers quiet, for PR reasons. Despite the alleged 'fear' and 'hatred' towards the Avengers, there were also quite a substantial amount of fans who actually supported the avenging crew. Hence, Clint's arrest along with the others' were probably kept out of the media's reach to avoid provoking the public.

* * *

About half an hour later, Natasha was done with her meal. She had even taken her time to do the dishes, but there were still no signs of Laura.

An eerie silence permeated the house. Too quiet to Natasha's liking.

 _What's taking her so long? The kids usually fall asleep in under 10 minutes..._

 _Crap._

Natasha's super-spy senses kicked in.

She walked over to her duffel bag, pulled out both of her Glock 26s and unlocked their safeties.

 _Please be okay, please be okay._ Natasha mentally chanted as she slowly crept towards the stairway.

"Laura! You okay up there?" Natasha shouted, her voice echoed through the stairway.

Silence.

"Laura!" Natasha tried again.

Much eerie silence ensued.

 _No footsteps. No voices. Shit._

How could this be? Lance and Bobbi were watching the place like hawks (she spotted the two of them among the trees while she was driving through the gravel path). Unless those two were busy making out on the tree top, then nobody could possibly slip past them, right? Well, _she_ could, but that was totally beside the point.

Quickly considering her options, Natasha thought of ringing Coulson and ask him to send in backup. And hey, maybe she could go back out to call down those two lovebirds herself. But the thought of leaving the house… nope. Not a chance in hell. She supposed she could call Coulson anyway, and maybe have _him_ alert the love birds about the situation-

All of a sudden, she heard the sound of a door closing.

 _Argh. To hell with backups. I ain't afraid of nobody._

She was an Avenger who whooped some serious Chitauri ass, for heaven's sake. She could handle some lowly goons with guns. Okay, except maybe when said goons had a bunch of sleeping ten-year-olds as leverage… now that would certainly be a situation of considerable hairiness. _Oh fuck._ Natasha tightened her grip on her weapons, steeling herself for a battle. Still standing at the bottom of the staircase, the spy waited, eyes wide open in anticipation of an assault. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, heightening her every sensory faculties. She felt everything. Her pulse, thrumming in her ears. The tingles on her nape which nearly had her shivering.

Seconds later, her ears pricked up again. This time, it was the sound of creaking floorboards. Her familiarity with the farmhouse allowed her to pin-point the exact source of the noise. The creaking was caused by a series of planks (an entire strip of them along the whole length of the hallway upstairs) which were deliberately made to sound whenever they were stepped on. It was actually Clint's idea of a safety measure. See, anyone familiar with the workings of the house knew about them and would usually avoid stepping on them, and that was kinda the idea of it – a quick way to identify intruders lurking around at the hallway.

 _Maybe Laura just stepped on it by accident?_

Another creak sounded. _Fuck._

A drop of perspiration slid down the column of Natasha's neck.

She held her breath, eyes laser-focused on the space at the top of the stairway.

The barrel of both Glocks rose an inch higher as Natasha growled.

Fuck it.

Hell hath no fury like a woman whose family came to harm in the hands of sadistic evil bastards with guns. They were about to fall victim to the full wrath of the Black Widow, all of them, whoever that was lurking upstairs. Threaten _her_ family? Hah. She was about to give them a taste of _hell_.

She was ready. So ready.

 _Come on, you sons of bitches._

Her eyes picked up shadows, and within the next microsecond, she reacted. She dashed up the stairs soundlessly, taking 4 steps at a time. She was about a third of the way to the top when she saw…

Laura emerging from the top of the stairway.

Natasha heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall of the stairway.

"Боже мой, Laura, you scared the _shit_ out of me! _Jesus._ "

Natasha turned and retreated down the stairs, surprised that she could actually walk given the state of wobbliness of her legs. As the adrenaline wore out, so did her energy. All of a sudden, she felt drained.

Laura followed the other woman to the bottom of the stairs.

"Nat, jeez, I'm sorry. I was just preparing the guest bedroom for you and then I fell asleep…"

"The floorboard alerts, you sounded it." Natasha quickly put her guns away. Laura had then reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Did I? Gosh. I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize. Must've been a misstep." Laura shook her head guiltily.

" _Don't ever_ do that again." Natasha said with such ferocity that had Laura flinching slightly.

"Please…" Natasha added a second later.

The sight of Natasha's tear-brimmed eyes only served to intensify Laura's guilt.

"I know, I know. I'm so very sorry, Nat. I just...haven't had time to prepare the guestroom for you after Phil called…" Laura explained apologetically, subtly glancing towards the coffee table containing all the newspapers. That glance didn't go unnoticed by Natasha. Surprise! See, nothing slips past the Black Widow, ever. And from Natasha's observations, Laura hadn't been sleeping much either.

 _Guess that explains why Laura stepped on the floorboards. Must have been a tiring few days for her._

Natasha felt a pang of guilt coursed through her veins.

"God, Laura, I'm so sorry that you guys were dragged into this mess. I truly am. I know you are worried about Clint, but please, trust me when I say that he's fine. Plus, you can't really find news about him through the media, I'm willing to bet all my chips that the government covered it up." Natasha said, putting both of her hands on Laura's shoulders.

"Nat, the kids are asleep, so why don't we go talk? Tell me what's going on." Laura pleaded.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go sit on the couch. I'll tell you everything." Natasha complied, took Laura's hand and pulled her towards the living room.

* * *

Once both of them were seated on the couch, Natasha asked, "Did Phil mention when he will be here?"

"Err yeah, based on the time he told me when he called, I'd estimate that he'd be here in about…another 4 hours from now? Why?" Laura said.

 _Shit. Can Steve even last 4 hours?_

"Damn, 4 hours. I don't know if that's quick enough, Laura. But I guess it gives me ample time to fill you in on things." Natasha replied, trying to keep her cool.

"You need to be somewhere…" Laura stated, having caught on to Natasha's distress.

 _So much for keeping my emotions in check._

"Yeah, kinda. You'll get it once I tell you everything." Natasha replied.

"Okay, then, I'm all ears." Laura said eagerly.


	4. Chapter 4: Recollection

_"We do not learn, and what we call learning is merely a process of recollection." – Plato_

* * *

"So, we, the Avengers, were chasing down leads in Lagos. It was an operation to stop a potential terrorist attack. Cap led the operation. But, long story short, the mission went south, people died." Natasha began talking. She had deliberately avoided the gruesome details of that fight, those were the kinds of stuff that Laura did not need to hear.

"Gosh, Nat. I'm so sorry to hear that." Laura responded sympathetically.

Natasha shook her head. "It's okay. We stopped the group of mercenaries and secured the bio-weapons that they were transporting. But anyway, the civilian casualties came with consequences for the Avengers…"

Laura remained silent, eyes trained on Natasha's, completely absorbed in Natasha's narrative.

"The government, well, governments worldwide actually, the UN, to be precise, were unhappy about the outcome of our mission in Lagos. They blamed us for the civilian casualties. Said that the Avengers were too dangerous to operate alone without oversight. So they came up with an agreement of some kind, The Sokovia Accords. Basically, it's a document that puts the Avengers directly under the supervision of the UN, which also means that the Avengers would no longer be a standalone organization like before. Every single member of the Avengers were obliged by law to sign it." Natasha said.

"So did you guys sign it?" Laura asked.

"Some of us did, some of us didn't. Clint didn't sign it." Natasha answered tersely.

"What happens to those who don't sign?" Laura questioned warily, anxious to know about the potential consequences that awaited her husband.

"They'd no longer be part of the team and…they'd be forced into retirement." Natasha explained, throwing in the not-so-hard part first.

"Oh, okay… that doesn't sound too bad?" Laura heaved a sigh of relief.

"There's more. This document…" Natasha paused slightly and took a deep breathe "it created a state of disagreement within the Avengers. Downright tore the team apart. Cap disagreed with the terms while Tony insisted that we should all sign it. Sort of like a clash of the Titans type thing." Natasha sighed, releasing the breathe she took.

"So which side are you on?" Laura asked, her tone measured and cautious.

"I signed, but I don't know…" Natasha stared at her lap, shaking her head slightly.

"You had a change of heart?" Laura asked.

"My stand is a little bit more… complicated. Cap was worried about the changing agendas of the people behind the Accords and the possibility of the Avengers being misused for nefarious intentions. Frankly, I agree with Cap completely… Ever since the collapse of SHIELD in DC, I'm pretty sure that HYDRA is fully capable of infiltrating any organization they want, UN or not. I mean, if they had the ability to plant themselves within SHIELD – the world's leading intelligence agency – and stayed hidden in it for decades? What else can't they do? Planting a few HYDRA agents among UN representatives can't be harder than infiltrating an intelligence agency right?" Natasha tried to explain.

Laura, however, remained perplexed.

"But… I don't understand…if you agreed with Cap, then why'd you sign it in the first place?" Laura questioned, her face scrunched up in puzzlement.

"I guess I wanted to keep the team safe. I wanted the team to stay together and still do what we do without the world painting targets on our backs. Signing is a way to show the world that we are willing to take responsibility for our actions, politically at least. Figured that it can help us win back the world's trust in the Avengers, maintain good PR, that sort of thing. That's the only way we can operate without hindrance in the future, you see? Plus, I figured that once the Avengers are allowed to stick together, we can figure out how to deal with the political or evil agendas later on. The important part is that we stick together and stay safe. " Natasha explained. Her explanation, once again, seemed to confuse Laura even more as the latter shook her head.

"Nat, you said you signed because you wanted to keep the team safe and together, but isn't that only possible if they _all_ signed? So how does your signing affect the decisions of the other Avengers? Unless… you think that your decision has some sort of influence over Cap's decision." Laura reasoned.

 _Oh, she's a sharp one._ Natasha thought.

"Yeah, I guess I thought and _hoped_ that my signing would change Cap's mind… I just… figured that choosing UN's side would be safest, for everybody. I mean, at least people won't start shooting at us if we played along. And once we're in good terms with the UN, we can try to pull strings from behind to make sure that everything's clean and HYDRA-free. I know it won't be easy, pulling strings from behind… but at least the team would still be together right?" Natasha shrugged, "Anyway, Cap and I… I feel we've gotten closer again this past year. Rebuilt our bond and everything. So I thought that if I signed…then he might… I don't know… give the Accords more thought, maybe? And if I could get Cap to sign, the rest would probably follow." Natasha explained further.

"From the looks of it, I'm guessing it didn't work. Else Cap wouldn't have called Clint for help…" Laura caught on.

"Yeah. But Cap calling Clint for help had nothing to do with the Accords though. Not directly anyway." Natasha clarified, which earned her another look of utter puzzlement from Laura.

"Then what's it for?"

 _So here goes…_

"Cap's old war buddy, Barnes, The Winter Soldier, the one who shot me in DC, was allegedly caught on tape setting up an explosive device outside the building where the signing of the Accords took place in Vienna. We all thought that it was Barnes behind the attack, so we tried to find Barnes to bring him in. Turned out that Cap found Barnes first, in Bucharest, but Barnes convinced Cap that he wasn't the one behind the bombing. I don't know how Barnes did it, but somehow he had gotten Cap to believe him. So Cap attempted to hide Barnes from the Romanian authorities. There was a confrontation between Cap and the authorities. But in the end, Barnes and Cap were both arrested by Romanian Police. They were all transported to Berlin. Cap was outlawed from then on." Natasha reminisced.

"That's ridiculous…I mean, after everything that Cap has done for us? Why didn't they at least hear him out before arresting him? Surely he deserved a chance at explaining himself?" Laura shook her head in disappointment.

"I know. I knew this would happen because I know how these people operate. They just don't care. I tried to tell Cap to stay out of it... but he didn't listen." Natasha sighed and ran one hand through her hair.

"So what happened next? Was Cap locked up?" Laura inquired.

"If Tony and I hadn't been there, they probably would have locked him up. But Tony negotiated, and they agreed to release him. They took away his shield though. At that point, Cap was basically stripped of his title, his position as the leader of the Avengers, everything." Natasha said grimly.

"That's terrible. And unfair. He deserved better after saving the world so many times." Laura sighed.

"Yeah. I know. Sometimes I feel that the world doesn't deserve him, you know?" Natasha stated wistfully while staring at a spot on the coffee table. Laura nodded and nudged Natasha, a gesture denoting Laura's desire for Natasha to continue her narrative.

"Barnes was locked up in a tight cell, waiting to be evaluated by a UN psychiatrist. That was pretty much the point where everything went to hell. The psychiatrist who came in turned out to be a bogus. I have no idea what happened to the actual one who's supposed to come in, but the bogus knew how to mentally control Barnes. The bastard brought out the Winter Soldier, and the Winter Soldier fought his way out of the cell. We tried to stop him – Tony, me and a couple of others – but he managed to get to the helipad at the rooftop." Natasha continued.

"So he flew away in a chopper?" Laura queried, slightly shocked at the turn of events.

"No. By the time I got up there, I found the chopper crashed into the river below the building. We checked the security cams and saw what happened. Barnes had already fired up the chopper, and was already taking the chopper into flight, in fact, the chopper was already a good 15 feet off the ground when Cap ran towards the helipad and–" Natasha said before Laura cut in, clearly having caught on to what happened.

"Oh my God…did Cap…I mean did he…?" Laura said, her mouth agape and with a look of pure shock plastered on her beautiful features.

"Yep. He jumped up, grabbed the chopper's landing gear, lowered it to the ground just enough, then he held on to the gear with his right hand while grabbing a guard rail at the edge of the helipad with his left hand. We saw the Winter Soldier pushed hard at the lever, trying to get the chopper to fly off at full power; but God…Laura, Cap was pulling the chopper down, inch by inch to the ground. He stopped a chopper taking off at full power, with his bare hands…" Natasha explained, awestruck.

"But then how'd the chopper end up in the river?" Laura questioned after her initial shock had passed.

"We saw the chopper inching closer and closer to the rooftop. A few more seconds and Cap would have grounded the chopper. But The Winter Soldier didn't let him. He noticed that Cap has the strength to pull the chopper to the ground so instead of trying to get the chopper to fly off, he tried to crash it _into_ Cap." Natasha explained.

"Gosh, is he alright?" Laura asked, her right hand covering her mouth.

"Cap avoided the crash. But when Cap got to his feet, the Winter Soldier had Cap by the throat with his metal arm. So Cap pushed the chopper's body to get it to fall off the edge and into the river below. That was how the chopper ended up in the river." Natasha continued.

"What happened next?" Laura asked.

"We've got not no eyes on them after they both fell into the river. But my guess is that Cap knocked the Winter Soldier unconscious and took him away." Natasha conjectured.

"So when he woke up next was he still the assassin?" Laura couldn't help her curiosity.

"When we saw him afterwards, he was Barnes again. He must have mentally recalibrated after being knocked out." Natasha answered and took a deep breath.

"So what happened next?" Laura prompted.

"Afterwards I guess it was around the time when Cap called Clint. Cap was recruiting for a mission. We didn't know what the mission was at first, but I figured he must have found out something from Barnes. That was the reason he called Clint. It was to help him with that important mission. Anyway, Tony and I had recruited a few new guys as well, for our own mission. But our mission was to bring Barnes and Cap into custody. So we confronted Cap, Clint and a couple of others at some airport in Germany. At first, we all thought that Cap was trying to help Barnes escape. But Cap told us that his mission was to stop 5 other Winter Soldiers from falling into the wrong hands and that he was taking Barnes along with him to raid the place where the soldiers were kept… But Tony… Tony didn't believe Cap's story, he thought that the Winter Soldier had manipulated Cap. So we… uh… ended up fighting each other." Natasha said remorsefully.

Laura was stunned into silence, not sure if it was by the fact that there were 5 other assassins or by the fact that the Avengers fought each other.

"So…um…you…fought… and hurt each other?" Laura asked when she finally found her voice.

"Yes…me and Clint, we fought each other…but we didn't hurt each other though. We were both pulling our punches. The fight between us was _far_ less intense than our usual sparring sessions, trust me…" Natasha attempted to reassure Laura by reaching for Laura's hand in her lap.

"Oh, thank God… I thought that the bruises on your neck were from Clint. " Laura answered, visibly relieved.

"Oh, no… those were from Barnes. The Winter Soldier choked me when I tried to stop him from getting away in Berlin, when he was still under the psychiatrist's control." Natasha replied, her right hand unconsciously found her way to her throat, where the nasty purple bruises were.

"Did you believe Cap's story?" Laura asked.

"Yeah, I think I believed him, but only after the fighting ended. Given HYDRA's history, I figured that leads like that are worth checking out. In the end I helped Cap and Barnes get to a quinjet…I just…couldn't bring myself to fight him. So now he is probably off with Barnes somewhere, fighting a bunch of deadly assassins…" Natasha stated, her voice laced with dread and worry.

"But…you're worried about him…that's why you said you had to be somewhere…you wanted to help him…" Laura put the pieces together.

Natasha shook her head in frustration, "Yeah…he's outgunned _and_ outnumbered, Laura. And his only backup is a mentally unstable super assassin that could easily be made to turn on him anytime… I should've gone with them… I shouldn't have stayed behind…"

"Wait, Nat. You said you helped them escape, wouldn't that make you a wanted person too?" Laura asked.

 _Guess Phil left out that part when he called Laura..._ Natasha thought.

"Yeah, I'm a fugitive now. But don't worry, I made sure that no one followed me here. Besides, this on the run thing is kinda my forte. I could certainly do with a good show of my prowess in espionage…" Natasha replied wittily, her face betraying a hint of a genuine smile.

"Nat, I still don't quite get it. Why didn't all the Avengers just go together with Cap? Verify Cap's story." Laura asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.

"That's the problem, the Avengers who sided with Tony on the Accords, sans me, didn't believe Cap's story. Those who believed in Cap were overpowered and arrested. Clint included." Natasha explained.

"Oh my God….." Tears slipped down Laura's cheeks.

Natasha remained silent, giving Laura some time and space to compose herself.

Laura spoke after a minute of silence, "Clint, where is he kept?"

Natasha mentally debated whether to sugarcoat the situation for Laura's sake, but in the end, she had elected to be completely truthful with Laura.

"All the arrested Avengers were kept in a high-tech underwater prison facility called The Raft…It's located somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean…" Natasha said, gauging Laura's facial expressions, attempting to broach the subject delicately.

"Is the prison safe? What if it was attacked and wouldn't they just… _drown_?" Laura spoke, her voice filled with desperation.

"Laura…look at me… the facility is safe. Its high tech. Stark's AI would be monitoring it 24-7. So if anything happens, Stark would bust them out of there right away. It wasn't Stark's idea to put them there in the first place…" Natasha stated firmly, staring deep into Laura's eyes.

"How long…? How long will they be kept there?" Laura addressed the elephant in the room.

"As far as I can tell right now, probably for the rest of their lives…" Natasha quickly pulled a panicking Laura into her arms, "Laura…Laura…hey… calm down, I won't let that happen and I think Cap won't allow it either. When Phil gets here, I'm gonna track down Cap's location and find him. Then together, we're gonna break them out of the Raft…I promise you…" Natasha ran her fingers through Laura's hair.

"I…Is that even possible? You said its high tech and that it's underwater?" Laura remained doubtful.

"Steve and I will figure it out. The tech won't be a problem, I can hack my way inside and remotely gain control of the Raft's systems. Once I gain control, Cap can get in. Security is tight inside but Cap's a brilliant tactician, he'll know what to do… so we'll get them out. I promise." Natasha reassured in a firm tone.

"But isn't the Captain on his way to face off with some super assassins? What if he…" Laura stated warily. Natasha tensed up visibly at Laura's insinuation.

 _Didn't make it back alive._ Natasha mentally completed Laura's sentence.

"I know…I'm worried about that too…that's why I need to track down Cap and get him some help ASAP…But before Phil gets here, all we can do now is to hope that Cap knows what he's doing. Hey, on the bright side though, Cap's got a pretty good track record – as long as he doesn't go into his self-sacrificial mode, obviously. The guy was badass during World War 2. And remember New York? Cap led the 5 of us – who barely knew each other for a day – to victory against an entire army of aliens. Plus, he had only _just_ got out of the ice at that time. So, it's safe to say that he knows what he's doing most of the time." Natasha went into full optimistic mode, trying desperately to reassure Laura and if she was honest, to reassure herself _._

Laura sighed in relief upon hearing Natasha's words. Having calmed down slightly, Laura pulled away from Natasha's arms while the latter reached for the box of Kleenex stashed underneath the coffee table, and handed said item to Laura.

"Okay…yeah…I guess you're right. He is Captain America after all…I wonder how he takes it though, with the burden of so many lives on his hands…adjusting to 70 years of time skip and all that…" Laura wondered out loud as she blew her nose with the Kleenex.

Natasha's expression softened at the question. Her posture eased and relaxed. At that moment, a rare aura of openness surrounded the usually guarded superspy.

"I wonder about that too…He's just…good… _too good_ , and pure. You know, he has this… this… _obsession._ This obsessive compulsion to always do what was right. Thing about Steve is that he just won't ever stop...he'd never stop until he had saved eve– What?" Natasha stopped her words when she saw Laura staring knowingly at her.

"So…Steve." Laura asked, a hint of a smirk betraying her features despite the fact that she was literally sobbing just seconds ago.

"Steve what?" Natasha said warily, dreading the direction their conversation was heading towards.

"You like him…" said Laura, causing Natasha's brows to draw together.

"Uh…yeah…I mean, who doesn't, right?" Natasha deflected.

"Oh please, Nat. You're gonna have to do better than that."

"I… don't understand what you mean…" Natasha averted her eyes from Laura's. _Liar, Liar, pants on fire._

Laura scoffed, "Nat, there was a look of passion on your face when you talked about him just now. Don't bother denying it, because I saw it."

Natasha remained tight-lipped.

Laura's tone softened, "Nat, you know that I love you, right? So if you ever need to talk, please come to me, because hiding your feelings never works, and you know that."

At Natasha's silence, Laura continued, "Look, if you won't admit it to me, at least admit it to yourself, Nat. Living in denial isn't healthy…"

Natasha's shoulder sagged heavily and a sigh escaped her lips.

"I…uh…it's complicated…I care deeply about him, probably as much as I'm capable of caring for anyone. But I can't be with him, okay? I'm not right for him. He's too good and too pure…and I'm just… _dirty._ He deserves so much better, Laura, after all the sacrifices he'd made for the world, he deserves so much better, so much better than _me_. I'm damaged goods." Natasha said weakly.

"Wow, that's a lot of bull in one breath. I'm impressed." Laura said dryly.

"Look, you know that I'm not… _normal_. I'm not…" Natasha sighed, "I can't have what you and Clint have, Laura. A family. A home. Stability. All those things in life that Steve deserves, I won't be able to give him." Natasha's voice cracked a little at the end.

"But are you sure that those things are really what Steve wants?" Laura asked pointedly.

"I…" Natasha hesitated.

"You…?" Laura prompted.

"They're what he deserves." Natasha stated sharply.

"But are those things what he _wants_?"

"They should be."

"Oh, Nat. You have no idea, don't you? You've never talked to him about this." Laura observed.

"I don't need to talk to him to know that he wants those things, Laura. It's all over his face. I saw the way he acted when he was here 1 year ago. He was there, standing at the main entrance, staring into the hallway. Then he just turned around and walked away. Didn't even re-enter the house until dinner. But his face… it was all over his face. His face looked sad. Like he was mourning the loss of something that could've been his. He wanted this," Natasha gestured around the house, "this is what he had missed 70 years ago. It's what makes him happy."

"What if you can make him happy too? Ever considered that?"

Natasha scoffed, "Me? Make him happy? Please. The only way I can make him happy is by finding a good woman who can give him all those things that he deserves, those things that he clearly wants."

"And what if that woman is you?"

"Then there _will_ be some other woman out there who could do _better_ , a woman who is perfect for him." Natasha stated harshly. _A woman who actually deserves him. Like Sharon._ Natasha thought bitterly.

"Then you're gonna be disappointed, Nat. Because you two are just perfect for each other." said Laura with a confident smile.

"But-" Natasha tried to cut her off.

"More than you know it, Nat. More than you know it." Laura stated firmly, but made no effort in commenting further on the issue. Laura knew that she had pushed Natasha enough for one night. Having known Natasha extremely well, Laura knew that the smarter move would be to give Natasha some space and let her work through her own feelings.

The room was silent except for the sound of crickets chirping.

Natasha broke the silence after a minute, figuring that it was time for her to pull the conversation to safer waters.

"I'm so sorry Laura…about everything… If I had sided with Cap from the beginning, Cap wouldn't have had to contact Clint and y'all won't have to be dragged into all of this." Natasha said regretfully.

"Nonsense, Nat. You and I both know that it would end up pretty much the same even if you had chosen Cap's side from the start. Think about it, if you sided with Cap, you'd probably be jailed by now, and we both know that Clint would do anything to break you out of there, and if he did, he'd be a wanted man too." Laura's gaze held Natasha's green eyes.

 _Guess Laura has a good point._

"I promise you Laura, I'm gonna do _everything_ I can to get them out…I swear. Then everything will be okay." Natasha stated with a fiery tone, her eyes flashed with determination and strength.

"Thank you, Nat. I believe you, but you be careful okay. I don't want to lose you too." Laura said, reaching for Natasha's hand.

"Thanks… But I have a feeling that Cap's gonna be doing all the heavy lifting anyway. I'd probably need to stay on the computer and remotely control the Raft's systems." Natasha said.

More cricket chirping ensued.

 _Time to address the other massive elephant in the room. Here goes…_

"What are you gonna tell the kids?" Natasha asked warily.

"Just the usual I guess, just tell them that their father will be away for a long mission with you." Laura answered nonchalantly.

Okay… that _certainly_ went a lot easier than Natasha had originally thought.

"Yeah…I guess that's good. I'd hate to spook them… and oh, Phil had the farm under surveillance 24-7. It's uh…2 of Phil's trusted agents, so it should be fine. You'd barely notice them. Is that okay with you?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah… I guess it'd be better if somebody's watching our backs. Is the farm in danger?" Laura asked anxiously.

"No, not at the moment, no. It's just a safety measure now that Clint's an outlaw. Phil will keep watch just in case. And also, if you have time, please have a suitcase packed in advance, just in case you guys need to evacuate. It's unlikely that you'll actually need to evacuate, but just in case…" Natasha explained.

"Okay…yeah…I'll do that…thanks, Nat."

"No problem…" Natasha answered.

Sensing that the conversation was over, Natasha sighed in relief and leaned her head back further onto the couch. _At least the explaining bit was over… and Laura was taking everything quite well, thank heavens._

"Nat, you look exhausted. Why don't you go upstairs, wash up and get some sleep. I'll wake you up as soon as Phil gets here." Laura urged.

Natasha briefly pondered over Laura's suggestion. _The farm is watched so I probably won't need to stay awake and guard the place. Catching a couple of hours of sleep makes me fresh and more efficient too. Oh, what the hell._

"Okay…Laura, but wake me up ASAP if you notice anything suspicious okay?" Natasha agreed.

"I will, Nat. Go. Get some rest." Laura ordered.

"I _mean it_ , Laura. You _must_ wake me up if there's anything okay? Anything suspicious at all. No exceptions." Natasha reiterated.

"I will, Nat. Promise. Now, go. And rest well." Laura reassured Natasha.

Natasha stood up from the couch and headed for the stairs, but stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, suddenly remembering the message Clint had asked her to deliver.

"Oh, by the way, Clint said to tell you to check the top drawer of your closet. Your anniversary gift. He said he placed it there before he left to help Cap with the mission; just in case he couldn't make it back on time for your anniversary." Natasha said with a wink.

"Oh…okay." Laura answered, her eyes teary.

"He also said to tell you that he loves you and the kids." Natasha delivered the final part of the message.

"Wait, when did he have time to tell you all this?" Laura asked curiously.

"Let's just say that fake fighting weren't all we were doing during the confrontation at the airport. We also had quite a lovely chat in between fake punches." Natasha answered with a smirk before turning around and ascended the stairs.

" _Spies._ " Laura muttered under her breathe, albeit her features slowly morphed into a smile.

It was Laura Barton's first real, genuine and bona fide smile in _days._


	5. Chapter 5: Respite

_"Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again." – Gandalf Greyhame, in 'Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring', by J.R.R Tolkien_

* * *

Natasha entered the guest bedroom and immediately noticed the thoroughly-made bed. A neatly folded white bathrobe sat on the bed beside the pillow. On the nightstand, there was a jug of water and an empty rock glass. Upon further inspection, Natasha noticed that Laura had placed some pills inside said 'empty' glass. Picking up the glass, Natasha noted that the pills were Aspirin and Vicodin. Natasha knew why Laura had placed those pills directly inside the glass. It was so that Natasha would be more likely to take them.

 _Clever._ Natasha thought with an amused smile. _For someone who claims to not appreciate the ways of spies, she's pretty sneaky herself_ – yes, she had overheard Laura's muttering from the top of the stairs. Told ya, nothing ever escapes the Black Widow.

Glancing around the room again, she noticed an electric hair dryer on the makeup table. Stacked beside the dryer were a couple of clean, folded towels. A large hair comb sat on top of the neat towel stack.

 _God, Laura, you are such a saint._

Natasha silently thanked Laura for attempting to take care of her despite everything that had happened.

Natasha was deeply touched by the gesture. The truth was that she had loved Laura like her own sister ever since Laura and Clint got together. There was something about Laura that was just so…lovable. She realized that, like Steve, there was something distinctly and innately _good_ about Laura. At that realization, Natasha vowed to herself to do everything in her power to keep them all safe, even if it meant giving up her own life.

Her duffel bag was unceremoniously hurled on the floor, just a couple of inches away from the edge of the bed. She took another glance around the room to make sure that it was safe and secure. Some would call it paranoid, but she'd prefer the phrase _occupational hazard._

Natasha's sight inadvertently lingered on the bathroom door. A déjà vu. The last time she had been here in this guestroom – in fact, standing at approximately the same spot – she had witnessed that same door open to reveal none other than Bruce Banner, the man whom she had a brief romantic entanglement with about a year ago. Honestly, she wouldn't even call it a relationship, since it never quite panned out in the end, but then again, it was about as close to a romantic relationship she had ever gotten with anyone. To tell the truth, she really saw a lot of potential in that almost-relationship with Bruce, so much so, that she had decided (for once in her life) to fight for a chance at love. And damn did she fight _hard_. She fought hard for Bruce, fought hard for the prospect of 'them'. Well, that was until the man himself chose the easy way out. He ran, and left her behind.

Shaking off the unwanted sensation of familiarity, Natasha quickly entered the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and readied herself for a much-needed hot shower.

* * *

As Natasha stood under the spray of hot water, her mind descended into a contemplative mood once again. Most likely a side effect of that déjà vu moments ago.

Bruce _._

When the Avengers reassembled after the collapse of SHIELD, she hit it off with Bruce right away. Something about Bruce drew her towards him; like a moth being drawn to a flame; or like the two opposite poles of magnets, inevitably attracted to each other. She noticed that, unlike all her friends, Bruce wasn't a fighter. Instead, he was the one avoiding all the fight, all the fight that he knew he'd win. And that aspect about Bruce intrigued her, profoundly. Hence, she sought him out, partly to satisfy her undying curiosity about the man, and partly to overcome the deep fear she had once felt towards the Hulk ever since her near death experience (on the Helicarrier) at the hands of said creature.

It started out with just casual chats between them. Just random chit-chats. Small-talks, really. But then Bruce let slip one or two things about himself along the way. Okay, fine, she might have shamelessly used her sneaky spy interrogation tactics and maybe just a teeny-weeny bit of her feminine wiles to coax personal information out of him. But in her defense, it was with good intentions. It was in the service of a friend. Nothing wrong with trying to understand and help out a troubled teammate, right? So. Over time, she learnt of the bits and pieces about Bruce's endless struggles with anger issues, and also his constant fears of losing control of the Hulk.

" _Sometimes…I don't even dare to go to sleep, Natasha. God forbid I close my eyes for just a few hours and I wake up to see all these… destruction and death, all by my own two hands…"_ Bruce had told her one night about his greatest fears, giving her a glimpse of what it must feel like to be in his shoes. It turned out that the more she learnt about Bruce's issues, the more she felt compelled to help him. More and more, she felt the need to comfort him, to give him _peace._ So, she did. Well, it wasn't like she gave him Black-Widow-style psychotherapy or anything, and _NO_ , she did _NOT_ offer him comfort sex either. She merely did the little things, such as introducing him to her private playlist (tunes she had collected over the years capable of lulling her back to sleep whenever nightmares haunted her nights); mostly Russian lullabies and some ballet music. Really. Just that simple. But then Bruce had found the playlist immensely helpful, and in due course, the lullabies just sort of…became their _thing_ – yes, they had a thing. And she, became Bruce's go-to-person whenever he felt distressed. Most of the time she'd find herself just sitting beside him while they shared an ear bud like a lovey-dovey couple, and some other times, she would just pass him a flash drive containing a portion of her large musical collection. Heck, there were even a couple of _desperate_ times when she had hummed the tunes straight out of her mouth just for him. Oh, by the way, together, they even figured out some sort of catch-phrase to tame the Hulk. Before that, the Hulk only listened to Steve, but now she could even get the Hulk to initiate non-violent physical contact with her. Achievement unlocked.

Soon thereafter, their trust in each other grew to the point where her Black Widow interrogation tactics were no longer required in any of their conversations. Instead, Bruce became open enough to share things with her on his own volition. Heck, he even showed keen interest in knowing things about _her._ So eventually, they had this… late-night… sharing sessions, going on. Like, they'd spent long hours into the night just talking to each other, sharing their pasts, their fears; everything. But hey, not that it was a one-sided thing between them though, because Bruce wasn't the only one reaping benefits from their… well, _thing_. The fact was that she, too, found a great deal of comfort after spending those times talking with Bruce. Because whenever she talked to Bruce, she felt… _understood_. Like she'd just know that Bruce could truly put himself into her shoes and just…understand. She used to ask herself why, as in why Bruce was able to understand her, or why she was able to relate herself so well to Bruce. Though deep down, she was sure that she knew the reason all along. In fact, it was probably the same reason that attracted her to Bruce in the first place.

 _"Believe it or not, it's kinda hard to find someone with shared life experience…"_ Steve had once told her implicitly about his criteria for a lover, when they were headed for New Jersey two years ago in that pickup truck he had _'borrowed'_.

And…that was it. That was the reason. See, Bruce and her, they had shared life experience. Sort of. Okay, maybe not in the literal sense but in a more general sense of the phrase (she really couldn't imagine herself turning green at some point in her life).

In many ways, Bruce had gone through things similar to what she had been through, on an emotional level, at least. They both had to live with the guilt of having their hands stained with the blood of countless innocents. They both had to go through their lives with this sick notion at the back of their minds that they were really just monsters made for killing. So, that was why there was always this…this… _understanding_ …they had of each other. She felt like they really just _get_ what the other was saying whenever they talked. And naturally, because of this understanding, sharing things with Bruce was, to her, more like a treat rather than a burden. It became easy and _natural_ to share things when the person could understand and relate to what she had shared. And in Bruce, she had found that person.

Eventually, those late night sharing sessions with Bruce got bolder, to the extent that she confided in Bruce her deepest and darkest secrets; secrets that were unknown even to Clint. She held nothing back. She told him _everything_ about her past, about the things that she had done and the sins that she was forced to commit. And when she shared, she did so without a single iota of reserve. Because she knew that telling Bruce wouldn't make him change his opinions about her, or judge her, or change the way he saw her, or change _anything_ between them for that matter. She knew that Bruce would still see her the same way even after knowing her dirty secrets. Because he _understood._

* * *

The steaming hot water did wonders to Natasha's aching body. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation the water roused within her body, feeling her tight muscles loosen and relax under the soothing spray. She closed her eyes and sighed. She supposed that it was impossible for her to not think about Bruce at all, seeing how every cube-inch of this guestroom reminded her of the man himself. In fact, it so happened that it was in this guestroom that she had first attempted physical intimacy with Bruce. Heck, back then, she had been _this_ close to literally having shower sex with Bruce, in this very same shower stall she was using. If it weren't because of the bad timing (they kinda gotten their asses whooped by Ultron and the Maximoffs at that time), Natasha was sure that she would have gone all the way with the man. God knows how much more Bruce's departure would have hurt if Bruce hadn't rejected her attempts. Sighing once more, she reached for a bar soap and began lathering it.

Well, as nice as it was, her increased rapport with Bruce came with a heavy price. It shattered the close connection she had shared with Steve during their partnership in DC. Her relationship with Steve underwent a drastic change by the time she got closer to Bruce, it became strained, thorny, and awkward. The usual banter between them evanesced completely. She'd no longer set him up on dates… well, she _did_ try to, once or twice, but the attempts didn't really end well (Steve downright walked away from her without saying another word when she tried). Heck, even the conversations between them were almost always strictly business – and that was _if_ the conversations between them even lasted more than 5 minutes. The most noticeable changes, however, were the way Steve addressed her and the way he acted around her. They went back onto last name basis with each other again. Ahem, correction, _she_ didn't, it was Steve who had first started calling her 'Romanoff' again. Besides, the tone Steve used whenever he spoke to her back then was…monotonous, terse, clipped, and…clinical. Almost as if Steve was trying to distance himself from her. Pfft, who was she kidding, Steve _was_ pulling away from her, no sense in denying the obvious. At first, she thought that it was due to their brief separation after she left him at Nick's 'grave'. Maybe their spark was just…gone? After all, it was months of radio silence between them after they parted ways at the cemetery. Sure, these things do happen right? When two people lost touch with each other for a long time, don't they become strangers once they reunite…? Wasn't that just how things worked? Sure.

Anyways, to Natasha, their separation all those months after DC had been a plausible enough explanation for Steve's sudden withdrawal from their shared camaraderie, and, well, she _was_ pretty satisfied with that meagre explanation for a while. At least until Clint (the smug know-it-all busybody) came along and debunked her whole theory.

 _"Call it the Hawk's infallible visual prowess"_ , Clint had told her before he began his long lecture about why her theory didn't make sense.

In Clint's exact words to her, _"Just look at you and I, Nat. Back in our SHIELD days, we both went on deep undercover missions before, right? And during those missions, it was complete radio silence between us, we didn't contact each other for weeks, and sometimes even months on end. Heck, I think the longest we've gone without contacting each other was more than a year. But here's the thing, when the mission's over, did you see me pulling away from you? No. I didn't, Tash. Things were still good between us, nothing's change between us, fundamentally. So, I'm telling you, whatever it is that had Cap pulling away from you? It ain't because of the brief separation between you two. It's something else entirely. And I think you know what it is…"_ After much feigning ignorance and deflecting on her part, Mr. Hawkeye went further to reveal his observations that Steve harbored non-platonic feelings for her, and that was the reason Steve pulled away. Partly because Steve didn't want to get in the way of her happiness with Bruce, and partly because it hurt him too much to watch them together. Well, as clichéd as that sounded, Natasha realized that it was entirely plausible.

Afterwards, she had decided to test out Clint's little theory, hoping that for once in her lifetime she could triumph over the 'infallible visual prowess of Hawkeye'. She started paying close attention to Steve whenever she hung around Bruce. The sneaky spy in her had purposely chosen to do her lovey-dovey-lullaby-humming-sharing-ear-buds thingy with Bruce right in front of Steve _and_ in spots within the Avengers Tower's surveillance coverage. _And then_ , she would secretly access the surveillance footages just so she could watch Steve's reactions to her intimate interactions with Bruce.

The result of her little test?

Well. Let's just say that the Hawk never misses. That smug bastard.

Truthfully, she was flattered, that someone as good and honorable as Steve would even be interested in her romantically. And if she was _completely_ honest with herself, she'd say that she, too, had once harbored romantic feelings for Steve, but had buried those feelings right at that cemetery in DC.

Natasha remembered her own words back then, when she told Steve about calling the 'Nurse'.

 _"W_ _ould you do me a favor? And call that nurse?"_ She remembered saying those words for the sole purpose of strengthening her own inner resolve to let Steve go and walk away. Those words, and the mere thought of Steve _kissing_ and _holding_ some other women, induced a sharp pang of jealousy right down to her core, yet she went ahead and said them, because she felt that it was the right thing to do.

 _"What was her name again?"_ She recalled feeling a stab of hurt and jealousy when those words spilled out from Steve's mouth, implying his interest in the 'Nurse'. Yet she stood firm and soldiered on, determined to finish her mission. Her mission to bury her feelings for the good Captain.

 _"Sharon… She's nice…"_ She remembered her own voice faltering when she uttered that name. She remembered mouthing those words with a quick avert of her eyes, unable to look into the intensity of Steve's eyes as she spoke. Partly because of fear, fear, that those baby blues would lure her back in, making it impossible for her to say goodbye. And partly to prevent Steve from noticing the tears that had welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill down the apple of her cheeks at any moment.

 _Yes, Sharon's nice. A woman who deserves you. You have no idea how much I want you, Steve. But I can't have you because I'm not right for you. Please, hate me. Blame me for everything. For lying to you back in the Lemurian Star. Hate me for everything, so that it's easier for me to walk away from you._ She remembered chanting those words in her mind like a mantra over and over again as she fought back her tears.

 _"She's not a nurse."_ Steve had said to her back then.

And, Steve's show of interest in Sharon was precisely what Natasha needed to complete her mission.

Steve delivered the opening quip.

So she delivered the punchline and sealed the deal. _"And you're not a SHIELD agent…"_

Mission accomplished.

Finally, there was that last kiss she had planted on Steve's right cheek before she left. That was meant to be her goodbye kiss, a final ritual representing the relinquishment of whatever feelings she had once felt for America's Golden Boy. All for one straight-forward and simple reason: because Steve deserved so much better than someone with a goddamn bloody ledger.

Those tears that she had held back in front of Steve spilled from her eyes the moment she walked past the cemetery gates. And they never stopped flowing, not until she finally reached her Corvette.

Knowing the true reason (as much as she hated it, she had to admit that Hawkeye was spot on in his observations) behind the shattering of her connection with Steve by no means instigated her to mend her relationship with Steve. No, far from it. Instead, it compelled Natasha to let things stay the way it was. Besides, she figured that Steve would get over whatever feelings he might've had for her in due time when he meets someone better (that bloody nurse would be a great candidate, for instance). All she had to do was to let him do just that, which, for her, meant staying the hell away from Steve and just let him pull away. No sense in dragging Steve into her darkness when there were so many people out there who actually deserved his heart. Steve needed someone _good_ and pure, someone whom he could have a family with, someone who deserved him, and someone whom he could build a future with. That someone wasn't her. A monster like her would only be poison to Steve. She wanted the best for Steve because Steve deserved the best. She had to let him go. Which was precisely why she made no attempts to reconcile with Steve when the Avengers reassembled after the fall of SHIELD. Besides, at that time, she had Bruce; a man she felt she could be with without the fear of tainting him, someone she felt that she deserved, and someone equally dark or perhaps even darker than herself.

By the time Ultron happened, her interest in Bruce turned romantic. Bruce was a good man after all. Plus, there were obvious connection and understanding between them. And to her, those were compelling enough reasons to pursue a serious relationship with Bruce. Admittedly, there were still times where she'd find herself comparing between Bruce with Steve. Both were good men, although Bruce-good was different than Steve-good. Steve-good was pure; refined. Bruce-good was a bit…darker...guilt-driven…quite similar to her own in a way, but still good nonetheless, because of the presence of good conscience. People such as Bruce and herself started what they did in order to _atone for something._ Their acts were often guilt-driven. But Steve Rogers... _God_ …Steve Rogers was in a completely different _league._ Steve did what he did completely under his own volition. He _volunteered_ to protect the world _despite_ his obvious physical disadvantages before the serum. Any lesser man would've undoubtedly used any physical disadvantages as an excuse to avoid that responsibility, but certainly not Steve Rogers, because Steve Rogers was a man of the top-most quality. Steve Rogers was humanity at its absolute best. Bar none. Natasha had absolutely no doubt that sickly-and-scrawny-Steve would have run straight into the line of fire without so much of a second thought simply because _he could still run_. See? Now _that_ , was the true essence of Steve-good, boundless conscience with the addition of the endless will to _act_ and to sacrifice. Steve Rogers was the very image of a man Natasha Romanoff didn't deserve. Bruce's emotional baggage, on the other hand, was something that she could totally relate to, because it was _somewhat_ similar to her own. So in essence, being with Bruce was equivalent to finding shared solace between two broken souls. A safer, compatible and guilt-free relationship – a relationship that Natasha Romanoff _probably_ (there might just be a chance that she didn't deserve Bruce too) deserve.

How far was she willing to take her romance with Bruce, some might ask? Well, for those who asked, it might be helpful to know that it was in this very same house and in this very same bedroom that she had first suggested to Bruce that they both run away together. Yes, that's right, run away together, _elope._ Avenging be damned. Saving the world be damned. That's pretty damn far, right? Only, that plan didn't quite work out. Because Natasha had underestimated the inner good within herself. She could've ran away when Bruce rescued her from Ultron's captivity; there was literally _nothing_ stopping them from just eloping and disappearing together right then, right there. The coast had been completely clear. But the hero within her took over. She _chose_ to stay back and fight for the people of Sokovia. She _chose_ to put her own chance at happiness on the line in order to save the world. It was the first time that she _truly_ felt like an Avenger. In the end, Bruce left without her. She was hurt, undoubtedly. It hurt that she opened her heart to a man only to have it all thrown right back to her face. It hurt that Bruce left her behind without so much as a goodbye. Another part of her, however, was quite amused by the universe's twisted sense of humor. Because what Bruce did to her back then was the exact same thing that she had done to Steve at the cemetery! Bruce left because he didn't trusted himself enough to keep Natasha out of his darkness the same way Natasha walked away from Steve because _she_ couldn't trust herself to keep Steve out of her own darkness. But, at least, Natasha understood Bruce's motivations for leaving. That gave her some form of closure and took away some of the hurt she felt due to Bruce's departure.

THUNK! The bar soap slipped from her hand and dropped onto the porcelain bathroom tiles.

 _Speaking of hurt, damn…my back is killing me, maybe I really should take those pills._ Natasha inwardly cursed as she tried to bend down to pick up the bar soap. Giving up on bending her back, she squatted down with her back straight to pick up the soap instead. She remembered being in the midst of delivering a fake kick to Clint's face before being flung a good 30 feet into a steel container. Her back took the full impact. Clearly, Wanda couldn't tell the difference between a fake kick and a lethal kick. _Damn it, Wanda, you really need to work on your observational skills._

After finally completing the excruciating task of soaping herself, Natasha reached for the shower shelf and grabbed a bottle of shampoo to clean her greasy hair. Natasha lifted her arms above her head to begin shampooing her hair. Big mistake.

She winced and bit down hard on her bottom lip as a sharp pain coursed through her spine. And she hadn't even begun shampooing yet. _Definitely taking those pills now._ Seriously, she couldn't even remember the last time she had gotten hurt so bad that she could barely lift her goddamn arms – yes, she was just _that_ good in combat. Gunshot wounds and Hulk attacks aside, none of her past enemies had dealt that much damage to her body with only one single blow, _ever._ Not even the Winter Soldier. Granted, none of her past enemies could move stuff around with their minds. Sighing, she made a mental note to herself to be extra-extra-extra cautious in the future when dealing with people who have freakish, telekinetic powers. God, she really missed those days when hand to hand combat was the only 'super power'.

Because of the pain, Natasha fleetingly thought of abandoning her shampooing task, but scoffed at the idea almost immediately. _Pfft_. Like a little pain was gonna stop _her_ from getting the job done. As if! Letting out a frustrated growl, she gritted her teeth, pushed through the pain and shampooed her hair. No amount pain could match her tenacious nature to get the job done. Most of the time, she had used work as a distraction from the pain she felt, especially emotional pain. It was what she did best, ignoring the pain and burying herself in work. She got hurt? She picked herself up, mended herself and fought back twice as hard. Well, that was precisely what she had done to deal with the emotional hurt caused by Bruce's untimely departure.

Shortly after Bruce's departure, she came back stronger and plunged into her role as the co-leader of the new Avengers. Steve had been incredibly respectful and supportive, and for that, she was extremely grateful. He did not once push her about the demise of her relationship with Bruce. He had given her space to sort out her own feelings, and she appreciated that, truly. Steve just stood by her side, silently, like a rock that she could lean on. Eventually, she found herself rebuilding her connection with Steve once again; it wasn't intended though, she didn't plan on rebuilding her connection with Steve at all. It just… _happened._ Naturally.

They had fallen back into their usual rhythm with great ease. Within a week of the new team's assembling, Steve started joking around with her again. The terse and no-nonsense Steve Rogers from the time of Ultron had once again transformed into the smartass who willingly participate in their daily repartee. They even made it back to first name basis again, and in fact, Steve even started calling her Nat.

Things were pretty perfect in their 'reconciliation' during the time they co-led the New Avengers, well, okay, except maybe for one minor 'glitch'. It was an incident so amusing that it's near unforgettable. It happened during one night after a tough team mission, when the whole team gathered at a bar down town for a couple of drinks to wind down. Steve seemed pretty excited and chipper about it at the beginning – in fact, it was Steve himself who had suggested the outing. After about an hour or so into their gathering, she found herself getting a _little_ tipsy from all her vodka. So there was this bunch of guys who came up to them, mostly to get something signed by Steve, but there were 2 guys who tried to flirt with her. Look, she was tipsy and maybe just a little bit playful, so she flirted back. The flirting went on for about 2 minutes or so before she heard a loud crack from beside her. Despite her tipsy state, her training kicked in so she immediately glanced to her sides to check for threats; but what she saw amused her. She saw Steve (seated on her right) frantically cleaning beer off his shirt and pants. The beer bottle that was in Steve's hand just moments ago was reduced to shattered pieces, most pieces were scattered on top of the bar table, some dropped onto the floor near her feet. When she asked him about what happened and if he was alright, Steve merely averted his gaze and muttered something about 'forgetting his own strength' under his breath before excusing himself to the men's room. And then she glanced around her again, but this time it was to check if the other Avengers ever saw what she had seen, but the others seemed to be occupied in their own conversations. Plus, the music was kinda loud so she assumed that none of the others had seen or heard it. When Steve returned from the men's room, his demeanor was almost back to normal, _almost._ He still appeared slightly tensed, and his smiles were a little forced. So she attempted to get Steve to loosen up again. And it just so happened that she noticed a group of women (seated on their left) stealing glances at Steve the whole time they were there, so she told Steve about it, and asked him to go chat the women up. _Okay, not the best of ideas, in hindsight._ Steve merely turned around in his seat to face her with that ridiculous fake smile of his and told her that he needed to leave. He then stood up and left the bar, which was uncharacteristic of him since Steve was usually the last person to leave during these team bonding sessions. She tried not to read too much into the incident back then, but there was just one teeny-weeny little thought niggling at the back of her mind. There was something about Steve's behavior which made her feel edgy that night. It made her uneasy. Okay, fine, she panicked. There she said it. Panic. As in those whopping, balls out, blowing-air-into-paper-bag type of panic. Because at that moment she thought that Steve _might_ have been jealous of the dudes she had been flirting with. She thought that maybe, Steve still had… _feelings,_ for her. Dangerous feelings. Feelings, which she wasn't ready to address. It took her everything to walk away from him the first time at the cemetery. And if she was being honest, she really didn't think she would be able to walk away for a second time. And that was _dangerous._ Perilous. Not being able to walk away was dangerous. She could never forgive herself if she was somehow responsible for ruining Steve's future by dragging him into her own darkness. If there was anyone's future that she wouldn't ever risk, no matter how badly she wanted to be a part of it, it was Steve's. When she confronted him about his behavior the following morning, he dismissed her concerns and told her that everything was fine. He made no mentions about being jealous or about his feelings or anything at all, just told her that everything was fine. Natasha could always tell when Steve was lying, but back then, she honestly couldn't detect any lie. His pupils weren't dilated, and his breathing was even. Hell, he was even able to look her in the eye when he told her that everything was _just fine._ In the end, she supposed that he was telling the truth, because he _did_ looked fine that morning; at least he wasn't disappointed in her or anything, or at least he didn't pull another 'Romanoff' on her again like during Ultron's time. In fact, when the both of them were heading out to attend an ad hoc meeting in town that same morning, Steve had even requested to ride along in her car to the meeting, said he just wanted spend time with her and discuss meeting details before the meeting took place. And after that day, they never spoke of the incident again. So that was it, that little weird and amusing incident.

Also, they began hanging out with each other more often, and usually stayed overnight in each other's personal quarters to plan missions and to sieve through new intel. Eventually, Natasha slowly found herself lowering her defenses around Steve. She began feeling more and more comfortable around him, and as a result, became more likely to open up to him emotionally. The proof for that was this one time when she returned from a tough solo mission in Russia. The mission reopened a lot of her old scars, so when she got back to the New Avengers' Facility, she headed straight to her quarters without greeting the team. She needed to be alone, to lick her wounds in private and to put herself back together. But when she entered her room, she was greeted by a pleasant surprise. Sitting on her nightstand was a bottle of her favorite drink, vodka. And beside the bottle were two picture frames. When she examined the frames, what she saw brought tears to her eyes. They were 2 beautiful sketches of _her_ , both done in exquisite detail. They weren't black and white sketches, both were sketched using colored pencils. The first one was a sketch of her as a ballerina. But the second one was more… allegorical. The second frame contained a full body sketch of her in her catsuit…only that she had a pair of wings and that there was a halo above her head. Her whole body was ethereally _glowing_ and both of her feet were elevated from the ground as if she was flying. And that wasn't all, in that sketch, she even carried a thick book with her name, 'Natasha Romanoff' carved on the book's front cover. The book was white in color and it was glowing. She knew right then what it was that Steve was trying to convey. Steve was trying to remind her that she was an angel, not a monster. The thick book represented her ledger, so Steve was also telling her that her ledger was white and _cleansed_ instead of red. She grabbed the vodka and her clothes and headed straight for Steve's quarters right after she saw the sketches. That night, she stayed at Steve's and they talked; her about her dark past, and him about his pre-serum days and his haunting guilt after losing Bucky. Heck, Steve had even shared with her a touching story about his mother and his near suicide attempt while he was younger. Well, it wasn't like she didn't share anything of her own, she did share quite a bit that night… just… okay, _fine_. Admittedly, she didn't tell Steve _everything_ like how she did with Bruce. She left out the details that she wasn't yet ready to share. She had done terrible things in her past. Evil things. Despicable things; things, which good people like Steve abhorred and loathed. That was why she could never bring herself to reveal everything about her pasts to Steve, because she didn't think that Steve would understand; heck, she didn't think that Steve would even look at her the same way anymore if he found out about the things she had done in the past. Every time when she pictured herself coming clean to Steve, it would always end up with images of Steve feeling revolted by her, of him hating her and casting her aside. _Every_ time. She couldn't bear having Steve look at her with repulsion, like she was some sort of monster. She couldn't bear the thought of losing esteem in Steve's eyes. And God, the mere thought of losing Steve's friendship would _ruin_ her if not kill her. Anyway, ever since that incident with the two sketches, she shared a close-knit emotional connection with Steve. She felt that they were closer than ever, as close as two platonic friends could ever be. She treasured the 2 sketches dearly, in fact, she packed both of them in her duffel bag before she left the facility.

* * *

Once she completed the agonizing task of shampooing her hair, Natasha stood under the hot stream once again and began rinsing herself. The soothing warm water had her mind switching gears to more recent events. She remembered being present at the church which held Agent Margaret Carter's memorial service. Not wanting Steve to be alone wasn't the only reason for her showing up at the church. She knew that Steve probably wouldn't be alone since Sam clearly went with him. The real reason she was there, was that she wanted to comfort Steve _directly_ , and to _be there_ for him. She wanted to see with her own two eyes that Steve was okay. They shared an intimate conversation inside the church hall after the service. Steve had been standing alone in the nave when she walked up to him. She remembered the way Steve leaned his body against a pew as they talked, his face so vulnerable and open. She had no doubt that the person she was talking to back then wasn't the stoic Captain America, it was the little guy from Brooklyn instead; the real Steve Rogers. That day, God, when Steve looked into her eyes with an expression of softness, vulnerability and trust, she truly felt a sudden urge to kiss him. And what scared her shitless was that she almost did. So much for burying her feelings for Steve. But she didn't kiss him, of course. Because it wouldn't be right. The love of his life had just died, and she knew how much Peggy meant to Steve. Kissing him so soon after Peggy's death would be disrespectful. But God, she had wanted to… she desperately wanted to just close the distance between their lips and –

"GASP!"

Natasha jumped. The feeling of the icy cold water on her body officially ended her long trip to memory lane. _Shit, guess I must've used up all the hot water._ Damn, just how long had she been standing under the shower? She gave her body a quick once over and was glad to notice that the soap and shampoo were all thoroughly rinsed off. With a sigh, Natasha turned the faucet, stepped out of the shower stall and toweled down. A minute later, she walked out of the bathroom in her bathrobe, grabbed the hair dryer and started drying her hair. She had let her hair grow out again after Bruce left. _Maybe,_ just maybe, it was a subconscious act that revealed her inner desire to get closer to Steve once again – even though her conscious mind had no plans in doing so. She didn't know if Steve or any of the others noticed, but all the times she had long hair were the times when her bond with Steve was strong, and it was the complete opposite for all the times she had short hair. (AOU: Nat short hair, The Avengers: Nat short hair, CATWS: Nat long hair, CACW: Nat long hair, Food for thought)

After setting the hair dryer back in place, Natasha walked over to the night stand and took the pills Laura had left for her. While setting the glass back down onto the nightstand, her eyes caught sight of the photo frames peeking out of her duffel bag. She picked up the one with the angel, laid her body down on top of the covers and continued her endless admiration of the sketch. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second, but she willed herself to keep her eyes open, just so she could continue staring at the sketch. Seeing the sketch often felt like an out of body experience, it was as if she was looking at herself through Steve's eyes. If only she could truly see herself the way Steve did, if only…

Then everything went dark as exhaustion took over.


	6. Chapter 6: Aide

_"I didn't bring the cavalry… I AM the cavalry." – Luke Hobbs, Fast and the Furious 7_

* * *

"Nat…"

"Nat…"

"NAT…"

Natasha jolted awake. Feeling the light sting in both her eyes, she blinked twice before glancing towards the door. Laura was standing at the doorway, her right hand placed on the door knob.

"Hey…sorry to wake you, but Phil's here."

At the mention of Coulson, Natasha felt the remnants of sleep dissipate from her brain.

"Hey, Laura…thanks for waking me, how long was I out?" Natasha asked and pulled herself out from under the covers…

 _Wait a minute, when did I ever get under the covers?_ Natasha wondered to herself.

"Oh, about 6 hours or so. Its 5 a.m. now" Laura answered.

Natasha stood up from the bed so abruptly that her body was swarmed by a sense of vertigo. _Must be the pills._

"6 hours?! It took Phil _that_ long to get here?" Natasha blurted out, and when she could no longer remain standing, gently plopped herself down onto the bed.

She realized that she was still clad in her bathrobe.

"Yeah, I came up here to wake you as soon as he arrived. That was 5 minutes ago. He said that there were some unavoidable delays. He's in the living room now." Laura answered as Natasha reached for the comb on the make-up table.

"How did I get under the covers? Did you get me under the covers?" Natasha asked, a playful smirk plastered on her sleep-deprived-yet-still-so-flawlessly-beautiful face as she ran the comb a few times through her hair.

"Yep, I did. Came in to check on you after noticing that the hot water had run out. I thought you fainted in the bathroom or something. Then I found you asleep on top of the covers, so… I tucked you in. Oh, and that's quite a nice picture you were sleep-hugging by the way…" Laura replied with a smirk of her own.

"Picture? What pic…?" Natasha's brows scrunched up in confusion. _Oh._ Oh.

"I took the frame out of your hands and placed it on the nightstand." Laura said, the smirk never leaving her face.

Natasha's eyes flicked towards said furniture and saw the elegant Handel-Blackford picture frame standing diagonally atop the nightstand. The angel figure of herself stared back at her, beautifully. A soft glint emanated from the sketch as light from outside the bedroom door reflected on the flawlessly smooth glass surface of the frame, overall, giving the tiny body of her angelic doppelganger a breathtaking radiance.

Suddenly realizing that she might have been ogling at the frame for a tad bit too long, Natasha's gaze snapped back to Laura's. And from the playful glint in Laura's eyes, Natasha knew that she was in for a major goading session by her surrogate sister.

And so it began…

"Steve really had such _great_ artistic talent doesn't he? What great hands he has. Oh, and a damn fine set of eyes too; I mean capturing all the details of your figure and all…" Laura quipped, firing off the first shot. Natasha blushed slightly before quickly recovering.

"And a good morning to you too…Laura. You know, for a woman whose husband is currently incarcerated in an underwater pressurized container, you sure sound chipper. Must be _some_ anniversary gift Clint left in your wardrobe to make you _this_ happy." Natasha gave back as good as she was given.

Laura chuckled slightly at that.

"Ooh yeah…. It certainly did. You see, unlike a certain someone…I actually admit it when a man makes me happy…You know what, Nat? Maybe you should try that for a change... who knows, might be good for you." Laura replied wittily.

Natasha gaped at Laura, unable to formulate a response. _Damn the Vicodin._

"I'm gonna go ahead and start making breakfast. From the looks of it, you're gonna need coffee… _A lot_ of coffee." Laura said before turning to leave the doorway.

"Yeah, okay. Tell Phil that I'll be down in 10." Natasha responded, raising her voice slightly since Laura was already 5 feet away from the doorway. Laura acknowledged the response by throwing a smile over her shoulders.

When Laura was out of sight, Natasha smiled amusingly.

 _That woman is sharp. How the heck did she even know about Steve's artistic talents? It can't be the internet because the internet has so much junk that it's difficult to tell the correct information from garbage… and she sounded so sure of herself, so it means that whatever source she used must be a legit source…_

* * *

The answer came to Natasha when she was descending the stairs, dressed in the same outfit she wore when she arrived at the farm. _The Smithsonian, of course_. A lot of legit information about Steve could be found there. His artistic talents, his pre-serum life, his hobbies and many others. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw Laura preparing breakfast. Glancing towards the living room, she saw the distinct profile of Phil Coulson, seated on the couch with his back towards her.

 _It's show time._

"Good morning, Phil. What took you? You know, one would expect you to pull a quicksilver stunt when the life of your childhood hero is at stake. Don't tell me that you've officially resigned as President of the Captain America fan club, because then I'd know for sure that hell had frozen over." Natasha sass-greeted as she strode confidently towards the living room.

Phil stood up and turned around as soon as he heard Natasha's voice.

"Oh, how I've _missed_ your snark, Natasha. It's one of the reasons why I absolutely hated Fury for bringing me back alive." Coulson deadpanned.

A smirk was all Natasha gave him.

Coulson began explaining his delay.

"The quinjet arrangement was a little trickier than I had expected. Couldn't get one from the usual places without rousing suspicion. Had to sneak one out from the Theta Protocol Helicarrier. Figured that something which came out from a non-existent Helicarrier would by extension be non-existent, that way people won't realize that a quinjet is missing and start asking questions. And… _MOSTLY_ cleaning up your mess." Phil answered, giving Natasha a pointed stare.

 _Oops. He knows. I'll probably never hear the end of it. Dang._

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Natasha averted her gaze, knowing full well what Phil was referring to.

"Oh yeah? What made you think that stopping a sports car that was travelling at 205 miles per hour in the middle of a highway was a good idea? Oh, and what about the fact that you were driving at 205 miles per hour while you were on the run? Any idea how much attention that would draw? Satellite imaging caught the whole damn thing. Took me a couple of extra hours to clean that up." Phil stated accusingly.

"Right. Sorry. Something came over me…" Natasha said apologetically.

Coulson's gaze softened, but he said nothing. And Natasha appreciated that, the last thing she needed was somebody else's pity, especially from somebody she respected immensely.

"It's okay. I've got everything covered. The hideout that you asked for, I found a suitable one. Long before SHIELD collapsed, Fury suspected that SHIELD had been compromised, so he created 5 different hideouts in case of contingencies; 2 were in the States, 3 were outside the States, all off SHIELD records obviously. You guys will be using the one located in Stuttgart, Germany." Phil explained.

"Right. Sounds good. Does it come with–" Natasha was interrupted before she could finish her question.

"Yep, with training facilities, weight rooms, super computers, secure internet access and everything else that a group of super powered individuals might need. Back then, Fury prepared this hideout especially for the Avengers just in case he needed to assemble the Avengers to deal with SHIELD's compromise." Phil explained smugly.

 _How did he know? I never told him that-_

At Natasha's slightly shocked expression, Phil continued, "I know the hideout's intended inhabitants, Natasha. You were planning on rescuing the arrested Avengers from the Raft weren't you? Wasn't that hard to figure out."

 _I guess Phil really does know everything._ Natasha thought to herself. Nonetheless, she was relieved that everything had been arranged smoothly.

"Thanks Phil. The quinjet's outside?"

"Yeah. Specialized for stealth Ops. Full retro reflective panels, near invisible from distances greater than 50 meters. Undetectable by most standard radars, you can literally enter and leave most airspace unnoticed. Weapons and food supplies already stocked inside. Exact coordinates of the hideout already programmed in it." Phil explained.

"Okay. Perfect. Do you have a SHIELD issued laptop and the tracking software?" Natasha asked

"Got it right here." Phil said while he picked up the suitcase beside him.

Just then, Laura interrupted their conversation.

"Hey guys, I'm so sorry for interrupting, but breakfast's ready. Figured you guys might need to grab a bite before leaving, you guys are leaving soon right? Nat was saying last night that she had someplace to be?" Laura asked politely.

"Natasha's leaving after breakfast, to go find Cap. I can't go with her because I can't leave my post. While she's gone, I'm staying here until a second quinjet comes to pick me up, figured I can use the time to give you a full briefing about the protective detail that I have placed on the farm. Is that okay with you?" Phil spoke to Laura.

Natasha was halfway through booting the laptop from Phil's suitcase.

"Yes, of course. And you can stay as long as you like, you're always welcomed here, Phil." Laura answered kindly.

"Thank you, Laura. Now, breakfast, shall we?" Phil said.

* * *

Three pairs of eyes stared intently at the laptop screen. All three were shocked by what they saw on the screen.

"What the hell is Cap doing in Wakanda? I thought he was going after the Winter Soldiers." Phil stated in shock.

"Yeah, that's what he said... It's impossible that Cap lied to us in order to smuggle Barnes out. Because if he were really trying to help Barnes escape, then he wouldn't have taken him to Wakanda." Natasha conjectured.

"Why? How could you be sure?" Phil asked.

"King T'Challa kinda hates Barnes." Natasha deadpanned.

"Something else is going on here… unless… the Winter Soldiers were kept in Wakanda?" Natasha drawled.

Phil's face turned as white as a sheet of paper at that.

"That doesn't sound good at all… That would mean that, Wakanda, the only nation that has access to tons of vibranium is Hydra… Shit. We're gonna have to make some calls if this is true…" Phil stated in horror.

Natasha shook her head.

"No…No… I take it back, I don't think that the Winter Soldiers were kept in Wakanda. I know the Russians, they always choose meaningful names for their projects. If they chose the name _Winter_ soldier, then it means that they were probably kept some place that actually _has_ winter. Wakanda is in Africa." Natasha reasoned.

"You sure?" Coulson asked warily.

"Born a Russian, lived a Russian, remember? Trust me, I know how the Russians think." Natasha answered.

"Alright. That's a relief." Phil said.

Natasha was still staring holes at the screen.

"Something is going on here… _what_ is it…?" Natasha drawled.

"Excuse me, guys… but… Is Cap even alive? Because from what I see on the screen, the dot isn't even moving…" Laura spoke for the first time since they found out about Steve's location.

"Oh, don't worry, Laura. Cap is very much alive. You can't see the dot moving because the screen's too small." Natasha said, already, her fingers had begun dancing swiftly across the keyboard.

A couple of new windows showed up on the screen.

"Here. This is a zoomed in version of the map of Wakanda. Now, if you take a look at the dot again, you can see that it's moving. And…from the speed readings, I'd say that Cap is… taking a stroll." Natasha explained, her expression was that of amusement. _Well, at least he's alive. That's good for now._

"Okay…But we still don't know what he's doing there." Phil stated.

"Only one way to find out…" Natasha said as she began closing the lid of the laptop.

"Do me a favor and bring the quinjet back in one piece okay? Securing it for you guys wasn't exactly an easy task, you know." Phil reminded Natasha.

"Well… it should be possible as long as we keep Cap away from pilot duties. But just a heads up though, if you don't hear from us within a week or so, you should probably start looking for the jet. Oh, and it'd be a pretty good idea to start looking at a place with _a lot_ of ice. And please don't take 70 years this time okay?" Natasha joked, adding a playful wink at the end.


	7. Chapter 7: Bucksicle

_"Still, you are pretty spry, for an older fellow. What's your thing? Pilates? It's like calisthenics. You might have missed a couple of things, you know, doing time as a Capsicle." – Tony Stark to Steve Rogers, The Avengers._

* * *

 **Wakandan Institute of Science Cryogenics Department Building, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

"BEEP!"

Steve Rogers watched the metal doors leading to the Cryogenics Lab slide open. Steve pocketed his visitor key card and strode into the lab. Upon entrance, Steve was confronted by the sight of sophisticated scientific equipment (rows of them) and the sounds of scientific jargons being thrown back and forth across the room. The lab was surrounded by transparent glass screens, each containing complicated orange-colored schematics which looked suspiciously like human body parts.

"Welcome to our Cryogenics Department, Captain." A voice interrupted Steve's visual inspection of the large laboratory. Steve turned his head to his right and saw a medium height African woman walking up towards him.

"Doctor Afia. Head of WIS's Cryogenics Department." The woman greeted politely and stuck her hand out to Steve.

Steve shook the extended hand.

"Steve Rogers. Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Afia."

"The pleasure is mine, Captain Rogers. His Highness notified me of your impending arrival this morning. I am pleased to inform you that Mr. Barnes' procedure will commence in 30 minutes. If you would follow me this way please?" Doctor Afia said, gesturing towards the direction she came from.

Steve nodded and trailed after the doctor.

Doctor Afia led Steve into a long hallway with 3 doors on each side and one large door located right at the end. As they passed the first door, Doctor Afia stopped and spoke, "Mr. Barnes' procedure would be performed in the room straight ahead at the end of this hallway. You can enter the room with the same visitor keycard that you had used to enter this main lab. Now, you would have to excuse me since I have some urgent business to attend to in my office. Any staff of this lab would be glad to see to your needs should you require any assistance. And I hope you enjoy your stay in Wakanda, Captain."

"Thank you, Doctor." Steve replied with another nod and strode purposefully towards the end of the hallway.

* * *

The procedural room was smaller albeit more spacious than the main lab. The rectangular room was divided into four sections, one section at each corner of the room. Each section contained a single chamber and a couple of glass screens which Steve assumed were used for monitoring tasks. Steve glanced around the room and located Bucky at the farthest corner, sitting on top of a surgical table. A male doctor was fixing an IV drip onto Bucky's right hand. Steve crossed the room in quick strides towards Bucky's section, slowing his strides only to examine the orange schematics and the Cryogenic chamber in front of Bucky.

"Buck, you sure about this?"

"I can't trust my own mind…" Bucky answered wistfully with a shake of his head before letting out a sad chuckle.

Bucky looked worn, tired, and defeated. And the worst part was that there was nothing Steve could do, and nothing he could say that would make it all better. Steve's heart clenched at the thought of all the sufferings Bucky had been through all those years.

"So until they figure out how to take those stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing…for everybody…" Bucky spoke again.

Steve said nothing. He merely stared at his childhood friend, his eyes betraying hints of sadness, regret, and everything in between.

But Bucky would take none of that.

"Stop looking like it's the end of the world, punk. I'm just taking a long nap, it's not like I'm dying. 'Sides, look around you! I'll be safe here. This place is Fort Knox. At least when I'm in here, nobody's gonna get to me aye?" Bucky reassured, giving Steve a light shove with his good (and only) arm.

A tiny smile formed on Steve's lips. It vanished a second later.

"I know, Buck. It's just…" Steve sighed and shook his head, unable to express the guilt and remorse he had felt over the things that had befallen Bucky.

"What? You're not gonna go all sappy on me now, are you?" Bucky teased, still trying to keep the mood light.

"No… Well, in a sense, yes… I guess I should have said this much earlier…but I'm so sorry…Buck. For everything. If I had been a little quicker on that train… or heck, if I had even tried to look for you after you fell… you wouldn't have to go through so much hell." Steve said.

"Come on, Steve. None of that's your fault. You did the best you could. It's time you let that go, man. 'Sides, if I didn't fall off that train, I'd probably be dead by now, or probably be like a hundred years old just waitin' to die. Isn't that even worse?" Bucky said jokingly, which induced a tentative smile on Steve's handsome features.

"But at least you would've lived your life without going through that much hell…" Steve said, his voice once again laced with guilt.

"But I would have lived my life thinking you were dead, Steve. How's that not hell?" Bucky said.

Steve pondered in silence Bucky's words. In some sense, Steve could relate to them. Steve understood all too well the pain of going through normal life with the knowledge that everyone you've known were gone forever, and that you were the only one left behind. Life just felt… empty, void and pointless. Then the guilt comes, and haunt your dreams. In fact, that pretty much summed up Steve's life for the first 6 months after he was thawed.

"Peggy… is she still alive?" Bucky asked all of a sudden, jolting Steve out of his musings.

"She was when I first came out of the ice. But she…passed, just a few days ago. Died peacefully in her sleep. Just attended her funeral before I found your apartment in Bucharest." Steve said.

"Sorry buddy." Bucky said.

Neither uttered another word. The room was silent except for the constant humming of some machinery operating in the background. And perhaps some white noise too.

"She'd want you to be happy, ya' know." Bucky said after a while.

It took Steve several seconds' time to answer.

"Yeah, I know…" Steve squeezed his eyes shut as the memories of his conversations with Peggy came surging back into his mind, "She told me that before."

Bucky gave him a surprised look.

"When?" Bucky asked.

"I visited her retirement home often when I was still working for SHIELD in D.C."

Bucky nodded his acknowledgement.

"Are you? Happy?" Bucky's question cut through constant humming of machinery.

It was, in fact, the very same question that Steve had been asking himself every _second_ of the day ever since he was thawed from the ice. Wherever he went, and whatever he did, that question was there, niggling at the back of his head. Gnawing at him, taunting him, begging to be answered.

 _Was_ he happy? Was he?

Well, the odds were that if he had to even ask that very question, then he truly wasn't happy. A happy person would've known straight up that he or she was happy. There wouldn't be any hesitancy or doubt. It would be instinctive. If you're happy, you'd just _know._

The blonde supersoldier sighed.

"Honestly? I don't know, Buck. This job… Every time we go out into the field, we do everything we can to save, to protect. We fight so that everyone else can have a chance at happiness, and so that everyone can be free. But sometimes…" Steve paused, shaking his head "sometimes I feel like the price of freedom is my own happiness, ya know?" Steve said pensively.

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, "I call bullshit."

Steve glared, "Well, what do you want me to say, Buck? That I'll abandon my mission and elope to Alaska or something?!"

"What I _want_ you to do, is to stop using the mission as an excuse to run away from happiness. You of all people deserve happiness, pal. But the thing is, you're also the only one who can find that for yourself. So what if you have to live most of your life fighting? You could always find happiness in those fighting _together_ with you." Bucky said knowingly.

Bucky's words rang like millions of church bells in Steve's mind.

 _Those fighting together with you…fighting together with you…together with you…together….with you…partners…_

Those words only reminded Steve of one, and only one person. A woman, whom he loved so dearly. A woman whose life and happiness he valued so much more than his own. His second chance at love, Natasha Romanoff.

For a moment, Steve could have sworn that he saw Bucky giving him a pointed _look,_ like as if Bucky knew something about his feelings for Natasha.

 _Could it be that Bucky knows? Pfft, how's that even possible? We only hung out for like…2 days ever since he disappeared off the face of the Earth 2 years ago._

Steve made a lame attempt to steer the conversation away from that 'mine-field'.

Steve shrugged, "Well… yeah, I guess you're right about finding happiness among the people fighting alongside me. When I led the Avengers, I felt like I was… _home_. And like I actually belonged somewhere, ya know? Guess you could even say that I was a little happy. But now, even that's gone. The Avengers…" Steve snorted, "We're no more, Buck. The _whole_ team, torn apart like some cheap cotton candy… so I don't really know anymore." Steve said sadly.

Bucky rolled his eyes again.

"Oh come on, punk. Don't give me that bull. You know what I'm talking about here." Bucky said accusingly.

 _Christ, Buck. Just drop it, would you?_

Still trying to feign ignorance, Steve tried his damnest to appear affronted.

"What? You said happiness… and… I was sort of happy when I was still with the team. Family, friends, a purpose in life? Aren't those the kind of stuff that makes people happy?" Steve replied indignantly. _And love._ Steve had left that part out, obviously. Because he didn't want to go there. _Sooo_ did not want to go there.

"Pal…you're freakin' hundred years old! Are you seriously tellin' me that you have no idea what I'm talking about here?"

" _What?_ " Steve said through gritted teeth.

"Man, I can't believe this is happening…" Bucky lifted his gaze onto the ceiling, hoping, no, _praying_ , that he wouldn't have to give Steve a long lecture about the birds and the bees.

When Steve said nothing else, Bucky nothing but threw him a look of pure exasperation, "You've _GOT_ to be shitting me, right punk?"

"Still no idea what you're sayin', pal. And whatever it is that you're sayin' I'm pretty sure I don't want to talk about it anyway." Steve fired back.

"I'm _SAYIN'_ …when the hell are you planning to get off your ass and make your move?" Bucky asked.

Steve did a mental face palm. _Oh balls, he knows… Bucky knows. Crap._

"Make a move? Make what move? On who?" Steve averted his gaze, trying to hide the crimson slowly creeping up his neck onto his face.

From the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Bucky's smirk. It was Bucky's signature I-know-who-you've-been-secretly-fantasizing-about-for-years smirk.

It was also right then that Steve realized something.

Bucky had played him.

Smug son of a gun.

Steve cursed inwardly at his mistake. Bucky hadn't explicitly set the context of 'making a move'. It was Steve himself who had presumed the context to be… uhh... romance-related. Damn, he should've said, 'I don't play chess' or something.

Guess he had totally forgotten how devious Bucky could be.

Walked right into that one. Oops.

Yep, he was definitely still smitten. Just by hearing the words 'make a move' and his mind would instantly bring about the images of a certain redhead…a smart, beautiful, intelligent, sexy, drop-dead gorgeous, funny, kind, and, did he mention sexy? Yeah, _sexy_ , and passionate, and sassy, and motivated, and strong, and lethal, and tough, and tenacious, and intoxicating, and alluring, and –

 _Boy...I'm still as whipped as I was a year ago, aren't I? Letting her go my ass, Rogers._

Steve cleared his throat, "I don't know who you're implying here, Buck. For all I know, I ain't making no moves on anybody…" At least that was the truth. After all, Steve knew he wouldn't be making any moves anytime soon because Natasha belonged to someone else. He had lost his chance with Natasha. He had lost Natasha to Bruce Banner ages ago. _Suck it up, Rogers._

Bucky snorted derisively.

"Who else punk? That redhead at the hangar. What, you think I wouldn't notice?" Bucky taunted knowingly.

Oops. Double, Oops.

 _Great, now even my brain-washed, long-lost war buddy knows, was I really that obvious? Maybe I was…_

Christ. This shouldn't have happened. What happened to letting her go, to hiding his own feelings so that it wouldn't be a burden to her? He was supposed to keep his feelings in check dammit! And yet Bucky had figured it out only after 2 days… Darn. He sure sucked at hiding his own feelings. The same way he sucked at lying.

Ever since a year ago, when Steve found out that Natasha harbored feelings for Bruce, he had taken it upon himself to ensure that his own feelings never see the light of day. Simply because he didn't want to get in the way of Natasha's happiness. Plus, even when things didn't work out between Natasha and Bruce (presumably), it was a near absolute certainty that things would get awkward in their partnership if Steve had somehow confessed his feelings to Natasha _and_ it turned out that she still had feelings for Bruce. Yeah, pretty sure that it'd ruin their friendship entirely, or at least, alter the dynamics of their partnership completely. Besides, he didn't want Natasha to feel burdened or pressured by his feelings, he wanted Natasha to be happy, be it with Bruce or anyone else. That was why he had been so keen on keeping his feelings for Natasha concealed. The less people who knew about it the better. In fact, it would be better that no one ever found out about his feelings at all.

 _But since Bucky already knows…_

With a look of resignation, Steve decided to feed Bucky a little bit of the truth, and hope that Bucky would be content with that and just let the subject drop.

"You mean Nat?"

"If that's her name, then yes. I detected a little something-something between you two back at the hangar." Bucky teased.

Steve shook his head, "Nah. You're wrong. It's not like that between us. Nat doesn't… she doesn't see me that way…" Steve let out a bitter chuckle, "Makes sense though, right? I mean, God, Bucky, have you seen her? Clearly, she's out of my league. She could literally have any man she wants, why would she want an _ancient_ war relic out of time?" Steve denied, a sad smile forming on his lips. He was wallowing in self-pity, he knew that. Though it didn't make his words any less true. A wonderful woman like Natasha deserved somebody special. Him? What the heck would she ever see in him? After all, the only thing special about him came out of a fucking test tube.

Bucky, on the other hand, showed no signs of dropping the subject – much to Steve's horror.

"Uh-huh. What about you? Do you like her?" Bucky asked, cutting to the chase.

 _Like? More like head-over-heels in love._ Steve scoffed inwardly.

Steve blushed and averted his gaze once more while he mentally debated his answer. When he finally formulated his response, Bucky beat him to it.

"You don't… actually have to answer that, I kinda already know the answer." Bucky said with that all-too-knowing smirk plastered on his face.

Steve could've sworn that he felt his ears burn off his head right then. Maybe a few more seconds later, and he might actually be able to smell the smoke coming off his burning hair.

"If you knew then why'd you even ask? Jerk." Steve accused, trying, but failing, to hide his embarrassment.

"Listen pal… I know women a lot better than you do." Bucky said with both his brows raised, daring Steve to challenge him.

Steve let out snort followed by a defeated sigh.

"Well, can't really argue with that, can I?" Steve muttered.

Bucky smirked.

"And I'll let you in on a little something, Steve. So you better listen up..." Bucky baited.

"Just spit it _out_." Steve grumbled.

"I think the redhead digs you." Bucky commented casually.

Steve opened his mouth and began to say something. He had absolutely no clue why he was even telling Bucky all the things that he was about to say, but, he did.

Maybe he just missed his old buddy.

"Nah… sorry Buck." Steve shook his head slowly, "I'm not buying it. Not this time. Look, there's something I haven't told you yet. Thing is, Natasha… she…uh…" Steve paused to take a shallow breath, "She wants someone else. It was a former teammate. I know because I've seen her with him last year. They looked good together. Like _really, really_ good. She was always just… _different_ … and _intimate_ … when she's around him, like he's her special guy, ya know? It's just…whenever she looks at him, there was always this look of… adoration. Like he's the only guy she could see. I guess…what I'm sayin' is that I don't think I could top that, pal. Besides, it's obvious that she's very fond of him and… if I read things correctly last year, the guy's pretty fond of her too… Heck, they even shared a room together." Steve said the last part assertively, hoping that for _once_ Bucky would take the goddamn hint and drop the subject.

A familiar tightness coursed through Steve's chest. The tightness was then followed by a sensation akin to that of a trillion daggers stabbing at his heart incessantly.

 _Dammit, it's been a year already, why does it still hurt so much?_

Right. Stupid question. It was because he was still in love. Completely, utterly and pathetically besotted...

And Bucky being, well, _Bucky_ , was _relentless_ whenever it came to poking his nose around Steve's personal life. Instead of dropping the subject, Bucky immersed himself deeper into his role as Steve's love guru.

"I don't know, Steve. I'm just saying, there weren't any reasons for her to help us escape back at the hangar. None at all. But she willingly sacrificed her freedom just to help your cause, didn't she? I was once trained in espionage too, and I _know_ , that to a spy, freedom means everything. We always want to get people off our backs, not the other way round. But she did it. She made herself a target by letting us off the hook at the airport. And I think we both know that she didn't do it for me, pal. Oh, and also, from the way she looked at you? I'd say that she's pretty fond of you too." Bucky continued his 'Nobel' lecture. So much for taking goddamn hints.

All of a sudden, Steve found the marble floor of the lab to be the most fascinating thing in the entire universe.

 _I wonder how they had created the pattern on that tile over there. Looks a lot like brain neurons._

Steve felt a nudge on his arm.

Reluctantly, Steve lifted his gaze.

He saw Bucky opening his mouth and immediately Steve knew that they were about to have _that_ talk. The brotherly heart-to-heart talk, man to man.

Steve sighed inwardly. _Christ._

"Listen, pal…" Bucky began.

That was also the exact moment when Steve groaned and raised his hand in a 'stop' gesture, "Oh, no, no, NO. You and I are _not_ having this talk, Buck."

"Wait, punk. Just hear me out?"

Steve shook his head and his expression was what one would consider as…? Well, scandalized.

"Look. I'm about to go under in a few. So you gonna listen or not?" Bucky pressed on.

"Okay. Okay. Fine. Just don't make it weird or anything." _If that's even possible._

"Look, pal. I don't have to lecture you about waiting too long, 'cause I think you know that better than anyone else. I'm just sayin', chicks like that are the type that you grab onto and never let go. You wait any longer, somebody else would swoop in and stake their claim." Bucky admonished in a serious and firm tone.

"Gee, thanks a lot for clarifying, really. Buck, that kinda happened already. I just told you that, remember? Some knight in shining armor had swooped in last year and taken her off her feet. And it's too bad that the knight didn't carry a shield. She clearly doesn't want me. It's over, Buck. Can we move on now, please?" Steve said, his voice slightly on edge.

Steve recalled losing Natasha to Banner because he had, what? Waited too long? Was that even the case? Maybe it was. _Or_ maybe it had nothing to do with waiting at all? Maybe Natasha just never felt that way about him…

"Yeah. I think we both know whose fault that is…" Bucky scoffed.

"You know what, Buck? I swear, you give the best pep-talks ever. Just peachy. I feel so _much_ better already. And since I am now _positively pepped_ , thanks to you, I'd appreciate it if you stop your lecture now." Steve said sarcastically.

"Come on, punk. Don't be a wuss. Go tell her how you feel, man. Make a move."

 _Jesus, Buck. You think I don't want to? God, I wanted so much to tell her how I feel. But sometimes, I feel like she still has feelings for the other guy, and telling her my feelings would burden her. And that wouldn't be fair to her._ Steve sighed inwardly.

"I'm not sure, Buck. But I'll keep that in mind, thanks." Steve answered wistfully, quickly losing his energy to argue his point further, plus, he figured the only way out of this conversation was through noncommittal indulgence in Bucky's Nobel-prize-worthy therapeutic love advice.

"Just a heads up though, if you haven't made any moves on her when I come back up, I'm going after her. I'll be the person to stake _my_ claim on her. And when I got her, I'm soooo… gonna parade her in front of you." Bucky taunted.

"Oh…shut up, you jerk." Steve smiled and punch Bucky lightly in the gut, realizing that Bucky must be joking with him… right?

RIGHT?

Steve's gaze snapped to Bucky's.

Bucky's face had 'this ain't no joke, pal' written all over it. Wow. So _much_ for pep-talks.

Steve groaned out loud, "Jesus _Christ,_ Buck. You call yourself my friend? What kind of a sick person makes a move on a girl _after_ encouraging his _best friend_ to go after the same girl _and while_ he clearly knows that his best friend has _feelings_ for said girl? _Jesus._ " Steve's tone betrayed his exasperation and disbelief at Bucky's cruel and… _inhumane…_ behavior.

And, of course, the realization that he had just admitted his feelings for Natasha out loud did not escape him either. Whoops.

Bucky gave him a shrug… and a smirk, "She's hot."

Steve's expression turned aghast. Blood drained away from his face.

 _Please tell me you're joking, Buck. Please…_

Steve went for a fake laugh, hoping that this was another one of Bucky's pranks. But the laughter faltered after 5 seconds when he realized that Bucky wasn't laughing together with him. Instead, the jerk was still smirking at him.

 _Smug son of a…_

Exasperated, Steve threw Bucky his are-you-fucking-with-me look. When the smirk remained on Bucky's face, the green-eyed monster within Steve reared its head.

"Bucky…" Steve warned.

"What?"

"Natasha's not your toy, Bucky. She isn't like all those dames that you mess around back in the days, okay? She deserves to be treated with respect."

Bucky shrugged, "Exactly. I know she's special. All the more reasons for me to pull my suave moves on her, isn't it?"

A vein thrummed through the skin on Steve's forehead.

"Don't go there, Bucky. I'm warning you." Steve gritted.

Bucky's smirk practically oozed smugness right then, "Warning considered. And… ignored."

Steve let out a feral growl.

"I _just_ told you that she's already been taken by another man, like _seconds_ ago. You're goddamn shameless!" Steve shook his head in disgust.

Bucky just shrugged.

"She's still hot." Bucky stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

 _Man, is this guy for real…?_

Steve poked his index finger at his friend forcefully, causing Bucky's body to tilt back abruptly.

"Back the hell off. I mean it, Buck. If you do anything stupid and hurt her, I won't pull my punches like all the previous times we've fought, you got it?" Steve was getting riled up.

And only _then,_ did Bucky's smirk transformed into a teasing smile.

"Now _THAT'S_ the spirit. Oh yeah…that's what I'm talking about…" Bucky said approvingly.

And at that moment, Steve found himself torn between mortification and relief. In the end, he chose the latter.

Steve's shoulder sagged, "You know what, Buck, I ...UGH! Fine. You had me! Go ahead, laugh at me all you want."

"Looks like _somebody_ had finally grown some serious BALLS. Hey listen up, folks! _America_ had risen again!" Bucky shouted into the space of the quasi-vacant room, his booming voice overshadowing the humming of machinery.

"Jeez, Bucky, keep it down…" Steve hissed.

Bucky's roaring laughter echoed the procedure room the next instant.

"And I'm just joking, by the way. Had to say something to stop you from being a wuss. And from the looks of it, it worked." Bucky said as he rubbed against the sore spot on his chest where Steve had just poked at, "Hell, for a moment there, I really thought that you were gonna leave me in that…" Bucky gestured towards the chamber he was bound to be placed in, " _tube…_ forever."

 _Thank heavens he was joking._

Steve said in relief, "Oh, shut up. You jerk."

Then Bucky did something that brought Steve right back to the 1940s. Bucky stuck out his tongue and tilted his head from side to side. It was one of Bucky's trademark idiosyncrasies, something Bucky always did whenever he pulled a working prank on Steve.

Laughter spilled out from Steve's lips. If he had had any doubts previously, they were all gone now. Now he was surer than ever. The real Bucky was back. His old buddy old pal was revived. He had gotten his brother back. At long last.

Just then a doctor in a white lab coat interrupted their conversation,

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Barnes, but we are ready for you now. We can begin the procedure whenever you're ready."

"Thanks doc. Just give us a moment." Bucky said to the doctor before turning back to Steve.

"Guess my nap time is here huh?" Bucky said to Steve.

"I'm gonna miss you buddy." Steve said, his eyes betrayed unspoken tears.

"Me too, Steve."

And in the next instant, Steve switched into Captain America mode because, so help him God, he was gonna cry if he hadn't.

"Listen, Buck. I'm gonna find out how to get those stuff outta your head. I don't care how many HYDRA goons I have to torture, I'm still gonna do it. Then you can come back up, live your life and be free." Steve said in his firm and commanding baritone.

"Yeah. I know you will. But don't do anything stupid like getting your ass killed before I get back okay?" Bucky warned.

Steve remembered clearly the last time Bucky had said something similar to him. It was during a 1940s Stark Expo, the time when he first met Doctor Abraham Erskine. It was at that moment when his life changed completely.

Steve smiled at the memory and decided to use the same comeback line. For old times' sake.

"How can I? When you've taken all the stupid with you." Steve said.

Bucky chuckled out loud, and Steve didn't need any further confirmation to know that Bucky, too, remembered their shared memory.

"You're a punk." Bucky said as he stood up from the surgical table and hugged Steve with his only arm.

"Jerk."

As Bucky pulled away from the hug, he gave Steve his final admonition, "Grow a pair and tell the redhead how you feel, Steve. I don't want you to live the rest of your life with the regret of giving up without trying, because it's definitely more painful than the rejection itself."

Steve scoffed and said in mock horror, "The hell do you know about 'the pain of rejection'. You were always the ladies' man, Buck. Even from way back in the 40s."

"It's about closure, pal. If you don't tell her, you won't ever find closure. You'll live with the 'what-if' for the rest of your life. Even if you get rejected, at least you've got closure, it'd be easier to move on that way."

Move on? Steve nearly scoffed at the idea. He had barely moved on from Peggy for Christ's sake! And heck, the only reason he was even able to move on from Peggy was because of Natasha. And here they were, talking about moving on from _Natasha._ Like as if it was even a possibility. God. He was so fucked.

Steve stared at his feet, still ruminating over Bucky's words. Deep down, he knew that Bucky had made some pretty good points. But to Steve, a lot more was at stake. Was he willing to risk everything and go all in? What if things changed between him and Natasha when he told her? Pfft, who was he even kidding? Things _would_ still change if (hypothetically speaking) Natasha met another knight in shining armor _without_ a shield. After all, Steve couldn't really be that naïve to think that this 'partnership' between them would last, could he? It had to change. It _will_ change at some point, just a matter of when. So Steve could either fess up and take the _potential_ risk of losing her, or lose her altogether at some point in the future to some other dude. All or nothing. Seemed like a no-brainer.

 _Great advice, Buck. Guess I owe you one._

Though, of course, Steve would still need to find a way to tell Natasha without pressuring her or burdening her in case she didn't feel the same. But regardless, like Bucky said, he should still find a chance to fess up and tell Natasha how he really felt.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Bucky Barnes giving him sappy and cheesy love advice in a brotherly heart-to-heart. Wow. Who would've thought? For a moment, Steve really wondered if the moon would turn blue that night.

 _But since when was Bucky capable of sentimentality, anyway? That's all kinds of weird. Maybe some part of Bucky was lost in transition or something._ Steve thought silently.

Unsatisfied with Steve's silence, Bucky tried again, "Tell her, Steve. Before it's too late."

Steve lifted his gaze back up and gave Bucky a perfunctory smile, "Thanks, Buck. I'll think about it."

 _Jeez, Buck, gotta stop now. Seriously getting a little too weird._ Steve shuddered inwardly.

"Yeah punk, you better. And who knows…"Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, "if you're lucky, you two might even get to enjoy a late night fondue."

And….the Universe was restored to its rightful axis.

Just like that, their brief moment of brotherly sentimentality was gone in a cloud of smoke.

Throwing in a wisecrack or two to ruin a perfect bromance moment? Yep, quintessential Bucky. And of all quips, it _had_ to be the fondue joke – thanks a lot, Howard.

Steve groaned, "Oh, come on… it's been over 70 years! 70 years! And you're still not letting that go?!"

"Nope, never letting that go, pal. Not in a million years." Bucky said cheekily.

"Yeah, well, Buck. I miss you so much already." Steve said in mock sarcasm. Bucky walked towards the chamber opposite the surgical table and stepped into it. Steve merely watched.

James Buchanan Barnes threw Steve Rogers one last parting look, and then he said, "Doc, I'm ready…"

And thus began the epic saga of a Bucksicle's formation in the presence of a Capsicle.

Stuff from legends indeed.


	8. Chapter 8: Unrequited?

_"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?" – James Patterson, The Angel Experiment_

* * *

 **Wakandan Institute of Science Cryogenics Department Building, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

Steve didn't leave Bucky's side until the final stages of the procedure ended. Before he left, Steve literally 'did rounds' in the lab, all the while taking his sweet time to ask the doctor-in-charge questions regarding the procedure and also about the logistics of the lab. Ask? Pfft, he was pretty sure that was putting it mildly. More like subjected the poor doctor to some authentic Captain-America-style grilling. He might have also slipped in a threat or two about snapping the backs of anyone in the lab who turned out to be undercover HYDRA rats. The poor doctor was sweating bullets by the time Steve was done. In his defense, Steve was leaving the safety of his friend in the hands of these doctors, so he would damn well ensure that these doctors knew what they were doing, and that their intentions were pure and non-nefarious. Bucky had endured several lifetimes' worth of suffering already, and thus, Steve would do literally _anything_ in his power to keep Bucky safe from HYDRA's grasps. Seriously, grilling a couple of scientists couldn't even hold a fucking candle to the things that he'd do to actual HYDRA bastards out there.

Steve exited the main lab via the same metal doors he had entered from, the ones which led to the main lobby. The main lobby of the Cryogenics Department Building had an artistic design, with large and triangular floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across its entire length. The fancy windows overlooked the picturesque scenery which surrounded the building. The moment Steve set foot on the lobby and spotted the fancy windows, he was enticed by Mother Nature's seductive beauty. Rays of white light shone through the tall windows, promising warmth, comfort and bliss; almost as if they were beckoning him towards the window; beckoning him to just lie down on the floor and bask in their warmth. So instead of taking the elevator down to the ground floor, Steve ambled towards the windows, and just…watched. What he saw was simply stunning. Laid before his eyes was the epitome of timeless natural beauty, an embodiment of paradise. Thick forests surrounded the building. The whole terrain was enwrapped in ghost-gray mists, giving off a mysterious and enigmatic vibe. The majestic statue of a Panther stood conspicuously near the edge of a cliff, a symbol of Wakanda's strength, valor and glory.

Steve's admiration of the scenery didn't last long as a sense of desolation invaded him.

 _All these beautiful sceneries, and yet I've got no one to share them with._

In an attempt to stave off the sense of forlornness prowling its way into his heart, Steve searched his memory frantically, trying to remember the last time he had a chance to watch a beautiful scenery with somebody he cared for deeply.

A certain redhead came to mind.

 _Big surprise there. She's all I can think about these days._

 _"There are worse ways to go…. where else am I gonna get a view like this?"_ He remembered Natasha's exact words to him when they were standing next to each other amid the total chaos of flying-city-turned-artificial-meteorite Novi Grad.

Back then, Steve agreed with Natasha, word for word, to the letter. Furthermore, those words were…comforting, at least for two people standing on a floating city that was about to take an apocalyptic plunge of death. Unbeknownst to Natasha, however, was the fact that Steve had been staring at her the whole time she was admiring the view; staring at her as he repeated her words in his own mind in an entirely different context, a context that had nothing to do with the scenery and everything to do with 'the view' of a certain woman standing beside him at that moment. How bad could it be, he figured, to have Natasha Romanoff's beautiful face being the last thing he saw before death engulfed his existence? He could certainly think of much, much, _much,_ worse ways to go, really (like being trapped in some hermetic underground New Jersey bunker with an inbound missile flying straight at them for instance). Then again, if they were all to perish in the hands of Ultron that day, Steve's only regrets would be in not ever telling Natasha how he truly felt about her, and perhaps also in being unable to provide Natasha with the love which she so deserved.

Ahem. Steve Rogers had a confession to make. See, the truth was, Steve had come _so close_ to pulling Natasha into a kiss that fateful day as they stood beside each other on that rock. And he would've indubitably done so, if Fury hadn't shown up with his goddamn Helicarriers. _"Fury, you son of a bitch."_ That day, he had growled out those words in a fit of frustration, and in _slight_ annoyance at Fury's untimely intrusion into their little (possibly one-sided) moment. There. He said it. Not that anyone would ever find out the real reason behind Captain America's filthy mouth that day anyway, pfft, bygones.

Nevertheless, Steve realized even back then, that he had truly lost his chance with Natasha. He had no claims over her whatsoever. Not when she clearly wanted somebody else. Not when her heart was already stolen by another man; a _good_ , kind and intelligent man, who also happened to be a good friend. But to be honest, that cognizance had come to Steve like a sucker punch to the gut at first. Because Bruce Banner…. her _thing_ , with Banner, was really something that Steve _never_ saw coming, like, _at all_. Why? Well, because… _because_ , Steve had always thought that… that maybe… _he himself_ would one day be that _man_ for Natasha Romanoff. Oh ya' know, ' _the man'_ , or the proverbial _'one'_ or whatever it was that people call it these days. Or perhaps one of those life-long-soulmate-partner thingies that people so often boasted about. At least that was what he _hoped_ for to be the case. Though, in hindsight, Steve realized that it had all been nothing but a fool's hope.

Throughout their partnersip in SHIELD, Steve could have sworn that they had _something_ together. Like there was this spark, or connection, or _chemistry_ , between them. He felt it. And of course, he had thought, and _hoped_ , that Natasha felt it too. He wasn't gonna lie, he was physically attracted to the spy at first sight, which straight man wouldn't be, anyway? Natasha was a stunningly gorgeous woman after all. But as they started working together as partners in SHIELD after the Battle of New York, what started out as mere physical attraction turned into something… _more_. Something so much deeper and yet so… _fuzzy_ … and _intangible_ and _undefinable_. _Something_ , which he clearly hadn't been able to wrap his head around back then. Sadly though, before Steve even had the chance to find out more about what that _'something'_ really was? SHIELD came crashing down from the sky into the Potomac; and along with that came the mournful demise of their partnership, as each of them had entirely different versions of ' _the aftermath'_ to deal with. For him, it had been to save the lost soul of his childhood friend. But for her? It had been to rebuild all her covers, to rebuild her entire _life_. What about the remains and remnants of their partnership, you might ask. Oh he'd tell you exactly what happened to the remains of their partnership - buried, and left to _rot_ , at the cemetery which contained Nick Fury's empty casket.

Even while deeply engrossed in his hunt for Bucky, Steve couldn't stop thinking about Natasha, couldn't stop wondering about the prospect of building something _more_ with her, he wanted a _definition_ for _them,_ a definition that went way beyond just a close friendship, a definition that meant something much more _intimate._ And his mind, constantly brimming with memories of her; her smiles, her smirks, her relentless teasing and grandad jokes, her _company_. And boy, did he miss her company like fuck. He missed their partnership, their banters, their… Oh God, he missed _everything_ about her didn't he?

As great of a partner as Sam was, Sam wasn't _her._ And…well, everything just wasn't the same without her. Steve swore, _nothing_ felt the same without her. Not even food tasted the same anymore. God, after she left, he swore he couldn't even take a bite without feeling this emptiness inside him. Indeed, he could no longer enjoy food like he used to, not when every spoonful he took reminded him of all the times he had takeout in the living room of his D.C. apartment, with Natasha legs resting comfortably in his lap while she shared with him tidbits about modern pop culture. _Christ._ It was like there was this empty void in his chest that could only be filled by her presence. Sometimes when he was out on the streets with Sam, chasing down leads on Bucky, he would almost always find himself turning his head at the sight of any women with red hair, he'd literally just stand still and stare after them, _praying_ that it was her that he had seen in the middle of some street somewhere in Europe. Heck, there was even this one time where he had nearly blown his cover wide open by chasing after a redheaded Natasha-doppelganger into some dark alley. Thank Heavens for Sam who had pulled him back just in time before he did something incredibly stupid, such as being arrested by the local cops for attempting a sexual assault on a redheaded woman in some dark alley. Captain America facing a sexual assault charge…just imagine the field day that the gossip columns would be having if Sam hadn't held him back in time. Yikes. God _bless_ Sam Wilson.

Admittedly, when Steve answered his phone one night (he and Sam were somewhere in Europe at that time; the trail on Bucky went cold, so they were lodging at one of Sam's properties in Hungary, catching a break) with Tony's boisterous voice blaring through the receiver, Steve was beyond overjoyed. Quite uncharacteristic of a behavior for Steve if you ask me, I mean… since Tony Stark's voice hadn't brought much delight to Steve Rogers' life in like, _ever._ Annoyance maybe, but certainly not _joy._ But that night, it miraculously did.

As it turned out, Tony called that night to inform him of the Avengers' impending reassembling.

 _'For_ _a couple of joy rides'_ was what Tony told Steve regarding the reason for the team's reunion…

Yes! Exactly! _The team's reunion._

 _That,_ was what had gotten Steve all cheery and jovial, not Tony's voice, for Christ's sake.

Jovial would be an understatement, because in truth, Steve had been absolutely thrilled upon receiving Tony's call that night. In fact, he was inordinately hopeful too, because the news of the Avengers' reassembling meant that he could finally see Natasha again after so many excruciating months of pining, of _longing._ And it also meant that maybe, _just maybe_ , he could finally act on his feelings for the lady. Heck, Steve had even packed up and left Hungary for New York the very next day after the call, hoping to arrive at the Avengers' Tower in 2 days' time.

By the time Steve arrived at the Avengers' Tower, everyone had been present and apparently, had all been awaiting the arrival of their Captain for at least 3 days. Pleasantries were kept short as Steve wanted to get straight down to business, well, because he was Captain America, and Captain America was almost always business. To Steve, it was always the mission first, and other stuff later, just like the obedient soldier he was. Besides, he figured that his personal matters could wait for another extra couple of hours. Plus, it wasn't like Natasha would just run off again and suddenly disappear to God-knows-where, so it wasn't like they didn't have time, right? They had plenty of time. They had all the time in the world, really. Nobody was gonna come between them ever again. For once in his life, Steve Rogers hadn't waited too long. For once in his life, Steve Rogers had the right timing. For once in his life, Steve Rogers gets the dame of his dreams. Right?

Yeah right.

After some meagre pleasantries, Steve had quickly gathered the team at the tower's main conference room whereupon Maria Hill brought the team up to speed with some new intel regarding Loki's scepter and the HYDRA base ran by Strucker. And almost immediately, Steve began noticing this…strange and…inexplicable… _vibe…_ surrounding Natasha and Bruce. The first thing that caught Steve's attention was how closely they were seated together. _Very close. Dangerously close._ Well, for one, instead of taking those single swivel chairs tucked all over the edge of the conference table (which, by the way, came in _great_ abundance in the room that day, thank you very much), Bruce and Natasha had opted to settle themselves on the massive love seat couch situated just beside the conference table. And hey, with a couch that big (Steve was pretty sure that the couch could fit 4 Thors on it), one would've thought that there would have to be at least a _decent_ amount of spacing in between its occupants, right? But no. _NO._ Despite the couch's generous size, Natasha and Bruce were still seated so goddamn _close_ to each other that their thighs were practically _touching_ , and that their faces were in such proximity to the point where they were literally _sharing breaths_. And goddamnit, why _were_ they talking so much to each other back then? Heck, the last time Steve remembered, they weren't even that close with each other to begin with! So what _the hell_ was the deal with all the constant whisperings and the…the… _giggling_ anyway? Didn't they know anything about professionalism or workplace etiquette or some shit? They were in the middle of a highly-classified team briefing, for Pete's sake, one which concerned _global security_ , mind them. Hell, Steve could even have sworn that he saw Natasha _smiling_ sweetly at something Bruce had murmured _into her_ _ear_ (yes, their faces were just that close to each other) that day. And yeah, _exactly_ , how on Great Mother Earth would people even be capable of _smiling_ in the middle of a meeting where alien technologies and global domination issues were hotly discussed? But still…those smiles of hers though…damn. They were by no means her teasing smirks (the ones which Steve usually wind up being at the receiving end of), no, no, no, those were genuine smiles; they were sincere, and _real,_ and _beautiful_ ; that much Steve could tell from the extra light in her eyes whenever she did those smiles. The way her eyes would light up whenever she looked at Bruce…the way she'd smiled that sweet smile of hers. That smile, which she reserved only for Bruce…

And at that precise moment, Steve realized that Natasha looked happy; in fact, it was the happiest that she had ever been, as far as Steve could tell. The only misgiving that Steve might have had, was that _he_ couldn't be the one to put that kind of smile on her face.

Oh, and that was only the start, by the way.

After a week or so of the team's reassembling, they were finally closing in on HYDRA, intel-wise. And as a result, the team began working more closely together on a daily basis. Most of the time, they never left the tower, hell, they were practically all living at the tower at that point. Well, it was also around then that Steve began to _really_ notice the escalated intimacy between Natasha and Bruce. Subtle glances and sweet smiles here and there (and just to be clear, by 'here and there', he actually meant 'all the fucking time'); the lingering, gooey, heart-eyes they threw each other (sometimes even from way across the room); the way their eyes would always light up the moment they were in each other's presence…

And _THEN_ came the innumerable physical contacts: The casual brushes of hands whenever they passed things to each other; the way their shoulders invariably brushed against each other whenever they walked side by side (and pfft, don't even get him started on how those two _always_ seemed to be walking next to each other, like they were practically joined at the hips); the way her hands would always linger on Bruce's arms when she laughed at one of his jokes; the fact that they were always seated side by side during meals…. It was usually _Steve_ 's place by her side (Clint had the other side covered) during team meals thank you very much, but then it seemed that Bruce Banner had become her de facto replace-Steve-Rogers guy. So yeah, just fucking peachy.

Day by day, Steve had to watch the woman of his dreams slowly slip away from his reach, and into the arms of another man. He was dying inside, no doubt. The only reason Steve was able to endure that far, and the _only thing_ which made it all just a tad bit more bearable, was because he saw how happy Natasha was. Truly, Bruce made her happy.

Then one day, Steve came to a decision. He acted. He did something that any selfless-honorabletoafault-heroic-masochistic good guy would do in his situation **:** he pulled away graciously and never said a goddamn word to Natasha about his own feelings. He began distancing himself from her, altogether reverting their previous camaraderie back to a purely professional relationship. All of a sudden, she was 'Romanoff' to him once again. He would never hold a conversation with her for longer than 5 minutes, and even if they did talk to each other at some point, it was all business. Every time she tried to set him up on dates with God-knows-her-name from Stark Industries, he'd just walk away. Like, literally just turning around and walk away. Heavens forgive him for being so impolite, but he only did it because he _had_ to. _Because,_ he was sure he'd just shatter into a million pieces right there in front of her if he hadn't walked away. _Because_ it was just too fucking painful, goddamnit. She had no idea how those silly matchmakings of hers were tearing him apart inside, _no idea_. If nothing else, her matchmakings only reminded him of _why_ she was setting him up on these stupid dates in the first place: it was because she didn't want him. She didn't want him, and that was why she would _so willingly_ push him away to some other women whose name he could barely remember (despite the fact that he had an eidetic memory).

Some might call him a coward for pulling away, but Steve, however, argued otherwise. To Steve, pulling away was an act of courage, of _sacrifice._ Pulling away meant having the courage to put his own happiness on the line for a good cause: which was to ensure Natasha's happiness, be it with Banner or anyone else. He'd rather sacrifice his own heart if it meant Natasha could finally be happy with someone. Even if that someone couldn't be him.

But how then, could he be so sure that Bruce _was_ indeed the solution to Natasha's happiness? A fair question, but with no easy answer. Well, truthfully, Steve didn't really _know_ per se whether she thought that Bruce was the proverbial _'one'_ for her, or whether she was hundred percent happy with Bruce. Steve really had no idea of what Natasha's own thoughts were. But for the little part that he did know, Steve had surmised and inferred from the interactions between Natasha and Bruce. It didn't escape him how open Natasha was around Bruce. _Yes,_ folks, the most private person in the world had been completely, utterly, thoroughly, downright and fucking _open_ , whenever she was around the oh-so-special Doctor Banner. Not only that, Steve also noticed the sheer amount of time she had _willingly_ spent with Bruce; no obligations, no Avenging involved, just two people hanging out with each other for the sake of… well, hanging out. And Natasha, again, being an extremely private person, almost _never_ does casual hang outs. Yet, more often than not, Steve would see the two them seated together with ear buds in their ears, completely engaged in deep discussions about calming Russian lullabies or yoga routines or just some…random chitchat.

Yes. The Black Widow. Engaging in random chitchat.

Can you believe that? _Random chitchat_. For all the times Steve knew Natasha, she had been nothing but reserved. Random chitchat had always been a foreign concept in Natasha's life. As a matter of fact, Steve didn't think that _random chitchat_ even existed in Natasha Romanoff's book. But more and more, Steve became convinced that maybe it was just because she hadn't found the right person for 'random chitchat' yet. Huh. Interesting. She hadn't found the right person, despite the fact that Steve had been there by her side for almost 2 years…

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Well, so much heartbreak Steve had seen and endured, but none of them were anything close to the deathblow. Yeah. That's right. There was a deathblow. A jackhammer to his heart.

The incident happened one early morning (roughly a month after the team reassembled), when Steve discovered, by accident, what Bruce and Natasha had been up to during those long hours they spent with each other. Obviously, everyone had been living at the Avengers Tower for quite some time by then, for convenience, since they were closing in on HYDRA at the time. It was certainly no surprise, that Captain America was a morning person. Okay, a _dawn_ person. And that morning, Steve was up at 4 AM for his workout routine; a good hour ahead of his usual schedule. That morning, Steve had been walking along the hallway when he heard soft voices, whispers really, coming from the tower's common room. Through his enhanced hearing senses, Steve easily identified the voices as belonging to Bruce and Natasha (aka _'the couple of the century'_ ). Of course, Steve knew that he shouldn't be eavesdropping, but as usual, when things involved Natasha, he just couldn't help his curiosity. Pfft, like as if he ever stood a chance, one mention of her name, and Steve would've been a goner. Shamelessly indulging his curiosity, Steve paused in the hallway and just listened, trying to figure out what their hushed conversations were all about. And come to think of, thank Heavens for JARVIS not calling out on him that morning. Anyway, it was roughly five seconds into his eavesdropping when Steve figured out the theme of their conversation that morning.

It was about Natasha's past. They were talking about Natasha's horrid past. _Correction._ Natasha, was doing most of the talking, with Bruce only occasionally humming his acknowledgements, sympathy, empathy and whatnot.

Frankly, Steve was shocked that Natasha would actually _talk_ about her past to anyone on the team at all, because Steve knew how private of a person she was, and how protective she was of all her secrets, _especially_ those secrets that involved her past. After all, even throughout the entire time of their partnership in SHIELD, Steve had failed, _repeatedly_ , to learn any personal details about her, no matter how hard he had tried to. And trust him, he _fucking tried._ But despite his painstaking (understatement of the millennium, I mean have you ever _tried_ coaxing personal information out of the woman? _Jesus_ ) efforts, not once did she let slip any forms of personal detail about herself to him; be it her past, her personal goals, things that drove her, what her life was like prior to SHIELD, _anything_. No matter how hard he tried, she gave him nothing. Sometimes, when Steve finally gathered enough courage to forgo any gimmickry and just ask those personal questions directly to her face, she would just clam up, or more often than not, deflect all his questions with that sarcastic wit of hers. For the most part, Steve respected that. He respected her need for privacy, and especially so, considering her line of work where entrusting secrets to the wrong people could very well get herself, or other people, killed. Steve understood that, he really did. But the problem was, Steve also wanted to be _more_ than just a work partner to her. He wanted to be that person whom she could trust and rely on – be it with her life or her heart. He wanted to be her rock. He wanted to help her and to support her in any way he could. He wanted to _be_ that special man in her life. If she would just let him in. And the fact that Steve possessed this insatiable, and undying curiosity about the woman only made matters worse for him. She really intrigued him like nobody else. She made him _want_ to know more about her. Damn, because for the first time ever since he was thawed, Steve Rogers _wanted_ something, and it was all because of her. Natasha Romanoff made him _feel_ things goddamnit! Things that he hadn't felt ever since _Peggy_ , God rest her soul. Thus, for nearly 2 years, Steve found himself entrapped in this frustrating situation, this… _rut_ , I mean, _Jesus_ , imagine wanting so much to know about a person yet having no way of actually knowing (because she just wouldn't fucking tell him no matter how hard he tried to ask). Eventually, his curiosity about Natasha intensified to the point that he just _had to know_ at least something about her past. He just couldn't help it. But at the same time he also realized that if he were to know anything about Natasha at all, he was just gonna have to find it all out on his own.

And, well, Alexander Pierce's files which were leaked into the Internet turned out to be the very thing that Steve needed on that front.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, Bucky wasn't the only person he had been searching for after SHIELD fell. Truth was, Steve had been looking for Natasha too. Well, not physically, of course, because he knew that the spy would be impossible to track if she had no desire to be found. But he was looking for _her,_ her as in the Natasha Romanoff from the past. He was looking for Natalia Romanova. While travelling and chasing down cold leads with Sam, Steve had spent countless nights awake, studying the SHIELD files which Natasha had released onto the Internet. Not some random HYDRA shit, obviously, because those files were heavily encrypted, but specifically _her_ file. Most of the time, he and Sam would crash at some squalid third rate motel after a long day of fruitless hunt. He would then wait until Sam was asleep (it didn't usually take long) before sneaking into the bathroom or somewhere private where he could work. Then he would fire up his computer and spend hours on end, just losing himself in her files, pouring over information after information about Natasha's life prior to SHIELD.

Admittedly, a lot of manly tears were shed during those nights when he studied her files; tears of anguish and of sadness over everything that she had been through; tears of relief that she had made it out of her past alive and in one piece; tears of _gratitude_ , to Clint who had found her and pulled her out alive, and to Fury too who was kind enough to give her a second chance; and then there were also the tears of admiration, as Steve finally began to see how strong and amazing of a woman Natasha Romanoff really was. He had read every single bit of content in those documents, never missing a single line or a single fact. And later on, Steve would actually find himself being overwhelmed with feelings of gratification and of satisfaction, because he had finally learnt everything there was to know about Natasha Romanoff's past. At long last, Steve Rogers knew Natasha Romanoff's secrets. When the years of yearning for knowledge about her was finally satisfied, he truly felt like the king of the world, like he had unlocked some sort of big cosmic secret. That feeling of misplaced satisfaction lasted all the while until he stumbled across Natasha's private conversation with Bruce that morning at the tower.

Yeah. That morning. The morning that changed _everything._

At any rate, going back to that morning of Steve's eavesdropping where this supposed 'deathblow' was delivered. Anyways, Steve had remained rooted on his spot in the hallway even after figuring out the theme of their conversation (took him only 5 seconds to figure out the theme). Steve knew that their conversation was a _very_ private one, well, obviously, since it was Natasha's secrets being the center of discussion. In fact, that could even explain why JARVIS hadn't been around to call him out for his snooping, right? Because Natasha had probably dismissed the AI in order to keep her conversation with Bruce off any forms of records. Those facts alone were enough for Steve to know just how private the conversation was… But still…

 _"Maybe just for a couple more minutes…"_ Steve had told himself that morning when he convinced himself to remain hidden in the hallway to continue his snooping.

Granted, he wasn't particularly proud of that little domestic espionage stunt he had pulled back then, but in his defense, Steve genuinely thought that he had known everything there was to know about Natasha's past at the time (from reading Pierce's files), so he figured that _technically_ , listening in to something that he already knew wouldn't be _that bad?_ Right?

Right.

Steve ended up standing in the hallway for about another minute or so. And it was probably about that time that the sirens started blaring in his head like a wacko on drugs. Because by then, he detected a sudden shift in the cadence of Natasha's voice as she whispered something to Bruce. Her voice had been uncharacteristically tender, soft, gentle, sincere and _vulnerable_. Her tone was something that Steve had never ever heard Natasha used before. Never, not even after the 4 years of their friendship and the 2 years of their close-knit partnership, had Steve ever experienced such blatant vulnerability from Natasha Romanoff. Damn, what a shocker that was, to think that Natasha could allow herself to speak in such vulnerable a manner.

 _And then_ , Steve began to hear all these names coming out of her mouth in soft whispers; names of places, names of the people from her past, _NONE_ of which rang any bells in Steve's eidetic mind. But how could that be? Steve had _read everything_ from Natasha's files, and Steve Rogers had a mind that _never_ forgets. So how could those names she mentioned not ring any bells at all? It made no sense. It was nonsensical. Preposterous. Cockamamie. A complete absurdity. But, wait, maybe it _did_ make sense. Hell, the implication was crystal clear, wasn't it? It had been so obvious. Natasha was sharing with Bruce the things about her past life that were kept outside her files. She was telling Bruce things about herself that she had probably told no one before.

Steve wouldn't lie. That really did hurt. First of all, it hurt like a son of a bitch that Bruce had the privilege to know things about Natasha straight from her mouth instead of through some goddamn file _._ It really fucking hurt that Bruce seemed to (so effortlessly) achieve the very thing that Steve Rogers had been trying oh-so-damn-hard to achieve for _years_ : which was in getting Natasha Romanoff to talk, _to share,_ and _to open up._ Heck, it had even occurred to Steve that if it wasn't for pure chance, if it wasn't for his dumb luck, then he probably wouldn't even have found out _anything_ at all about Natasha's life beyond her files' contents. Such a sad truth, wasn't it? To realize that his overhearing of Natasha's conversation that morning was nothing but a stroke of luck, a happenstance, a random event on some random morning. Think about it, folks. Pure _chance._ A random, unintended occurrence. Yeah, that fucking _stung_.

Now. Ready for that jackhammerin' deathblow? Okay, then. Brace yourselves.

A simple 5-word phrase: " _Even Clint doesn't know this…"_

There.

 _THAT,_ was the deathblow.

The moment Steve heard Natasha whispering those 5 words to Bruce, he felt his heart plummet through the center of the Earth. He had decided to stop listening right at that precise moment, because there really wasn't much point in listening further. Steve already had his answer, and the answer was painfully clear: Natasha trusted Bruce more than anybody else. More than himself, and hell, possibly even more than _Clint_.

Yeah folks, you've heard right. More than _Clint_. _Clint_ , the person whom she had the _longest_ history with. _Clint,_ who had saved her life from the jaws of the KGB. _Clint,_ who had helped her obtain a new life among the good guys (sort of, I mean, it's what SHIELD stood for that counts). _Clint,_ who had brought her over to the side of the light.

Steve had always thought that there was nobody else that Natasha Romanoff would trust more than Clint Barton.

Steve was wrong.

Dead wrong.

To Steve, that was enough proof that Natasha wanted Bruce. Yeah. Natasha _wanted_ Bruce, and not just as a close friend/brother like with Clint; and most definitely not as a puny, insignificant work partner like with Steve himself. She wanted Bruce as a _lover_. Other than that, Steve really couldn't think of any other reasons to explain what he had discovered through his eavesdropping that morning. Clearly, Bruce had invoked a _desire_ for intimacy within Natasha that made her so willing to share things about herself. Bruce had successfully gotten her to let him _in_ , to let him _into her heart._ And through that intimacy, they somehow forged a bond so strong that it transcended _any_ bonds of friendship Natasha had ever had. What else could that be if not romantic love? Why else would she have granted Bruce (a man whom she had barely known for 5 years) the privilege to know things about herself that were unknown even to _Clint_ (her _savior_ , the person whom she had had more than a fucking _decade_ of history with)?

It had to be romantic love, right? What else could it be?

After recovering from the initial shock due to his discovery that morning, Steve had put on his de minimis fake smile, made some shuffling noise with his feet, cleared his throat a few times and maybe sniffed loudly for a bit in an attempt to alert the duo of his presence in the hallway. He at least had the decency to wait for their voices to cease before he made his entrance into the common room. He greeted them both with forced exuberance and noticed that they were both dressed in their work clothes from the prior day. That's right, not sleep wear, but work clothes. Which could only mean one thing: they never went to bed, they had talked straight through the entire night. Bruce politely greeted him back, but Natasha just sort of… stared at him. He really wondered if she had already figured out his little act back then, but at that point, he was honestly too hurt to care. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left quickly for the gym.

Oh, and by the way, Steve had also managed to set a new record for himself at the gym that morning. Because he got his fist stuck within a punching bag for the first time in his near 100 years of natural existence, by punching _through_ it. And boy, did he get an earful from Stark for that stunt.

Still, Steve was a gentleman. He couldn't really hold it against Natasha for pursuing her own happiness. So he gave her his silent blessings and tried to be happy for her instead. Okay, maybe he wasn't really _happy_ per se, but he supposed he _could_ live with seeing her happy?

Even if it was with another man…another man, who was also his friend…

Oh balls, he honestly had no fucking clue if he could even live through that. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't hurt or heartbroken. He was in love with the lady, for heavens' sake, how the hell was he supposed to be okay with seeing her loving another man? Maybe he should just shave his head and become a monk. He had heard great claims about the 'way of the monk' being the surest path towards inner peace. Perhaps that could help him get over his feelings of heartbreak or longing or whatever. Or perhaps he could even take up a sworn oath of lifelong celibacy, dedicate his life to the job and see how that goes.

The sound of birds pecking against the glass of the tall windows pulled Steve out from his thoughts. All of a sudden, Steve snapped out of his reminiscences and descended back into reality. He glanced around him, taking note of his surroundings, trying to remember where he was and what he had been doing before. _Wakandan Institute of Science. Cryogenics Department. Bucky's procedure._ Right. He had been standing at the lobby for… probably a long time. Just to be clear, it wasn't often that he'd lose his bearings like this, it usually occurred when he was hungry or, apparently, when he was lovesick.

 _Great, I'm lovesick now. Not even the serum stood a chance against that sickness._

The mist got thicker as the afternoon stretched on. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Steve continued to stare out the window from the Institute of Science building. Steve wondered how Bucky must be feeling right then. Was he in peace? Was he dreaming? Would the dreams be nice? Would the dreams involve the life that he might have led? Or would the dreams involve the horrors of his life as a HYDRA assassin? Steve briefly considered the possibility of asking T'Challa for a second cryochamber, this time so that he himself could be put on ice. Perhaps he could finally find peace in the stagnation? After all, Captain America was just a supersoldier. As long as there weren't any threats, the world would have no real need for Steve Rogers, right? And besides, the whole world kinda hated him after everything with the Accords. So it wasn't like he'd be missed if he went back under. But he suppose he would never be able to see Natasha again if he truly chose to go back under. That would be a huge bummer, wouldn't it? Then again, would it matter? Would it make a difference to her at all? Would she even miss him if he was gone? That last question was a dangerous one, Steve realized. It was those kind of questions whose answers you both wanna know and don't wanna know at the same time.

Bit by bit, the growing mist engulfed the head of the Panther statue, obscuring it from Steve's view. How the hell should he spend his remaining time here in Wakanda? It was a beautiful nation with so much to be explored. But he wasn't sure if he was even ready to explore anything at the moment. After the fight in Siberia, he still felt kinda strung out, and skittish; definitely not the right conditions to do the beautiful Wakandan sights any justice. Then again, perhaps exploring the nation could help calm his nerves a little bit, and perhaps help him get back his bearings? After everything that happened, he could surely do some calm, especially if he was planning to execute an intricate rescue mission which involved breaking into the world's most secure underwater prison facility.

Well, he supposed that the top of that gigantic Panther statue _could_ be a pretty nice spot for some calming meditation, if he was indeed serious about taking up that monk thing.

Ugh.

 _Monk? Now where the hell did THAT even come from?_ Steve shuddered at the thought of him…Captain America… with his shield, standing bald. What an uncanny sight. Besides, the serum would regenerate his hair within days and he'd have to shave again, imagine how troublesome that'd be.

Still ruminating over his afternoon plans, Steve let out another heavy sigh, this time causing the glass in front of him to fog up slightly. He supposed he could go back to his suite and get some shut eye? Or maybe he could take a stroll around Central Wakanda? Maybe grab a bite or two?

Or… he could keep staring out of the window and just…zone out?

Well, it _was_ a pretty nice view, and the lobby was all quiet and peaceful… and tranquil…

 _Just a while longer._ Steve decided. Honestly, he just needed a moment of peace, to clear his head. The lobby seemed like the perfect place with the perfect view.

And soon enough, Steve was lost in his thoughts once again.

This time, Steve's thoughts went back to the conversation he had with Bucky in the lab just moments ago before Bucky went under. Somewhere along playing the love guru, Bucky apprised him that his feelings for Natasha might not be unrequited after all, as inconceivable as that sounded. Okay, well, Steve supposed that there was, indeed, a plus side to that, since Bucky was usually spot on when it came to these kinds of things. It certainly did made Steve _feel_ better, knowing that Bucky could _'see'_ (God knows how Bucky did it) Natasha's alleged 'feelings' for him. But that was it. Other than that Steve remain completely unconvinced that Natasha ever saw him as more than just a platonic work partner. Like, come on, seriously, what else was he supposed to think? Try as he might, Steve just couldn't _see_ that Natasha wanted him the way he wanted her. He just couldn't. And besides, they had been working side by side every day back at the compound after Ultron's defeat, and yet Natasha never said anything or showed any signs of interest in him. Never even gave him so much as a goddamn hint to show that she might be in the slightest bit interested.

Perhaps he was just too blind to notice the hints?

Natasha was one of the best spies in the world, so maybe she was just good at hiding it?

At that thought, Steve snorted.

 _Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Rogers. Why would she hide it if she really was interested, you moron? It's not like she was hiding it with Bruce either. Just get over it, pal. She ain't interested in you. You're way out of her league... And she probably doesn't even see you as a man, Rogers. Yeah…just some old relic out of time maybe, or just some dude on super steroids, but definitely not as a man she desires._

Or maybe…

Hell, Peggy had been right all along, he really didn't know a bloody thing about women in general. Let alone Natasha, who was truly the most maddening, enigmatic, challenging, complicated and frustrating woman he had ever known. Yes, indeed he had reconnected with Natasha after Bruce left. Rebuilt their bond, so to speak. It just sort of… _happened_ , naturally, the very moment they were both thrown into the task of co-leading the New Avengers. Things were pretty good, like they were back on first name basis again, or that they had re-established their repartee and all that. But even with all that, so what? A bond could also be purely platonic, right? Just like her bond with Clint, close friends who did what they did without being romantically involved; Steve remembered a term for that in modern colloquialism… what was it again? Right. The 'Friend-Zone'. Funny thing though, it was Natasha who had introduced him to that term when they were still partners in SHIELD (getting Captain America acquainted with modern pop-culture had been Fury's first assignment for the Black Widow after the Battle of New York). Was she subtly giving him a hint back then? That she was 'Friend-zoning' him? And come to think of, she _was_ super keen on setting him up with other women back in DC wasn't she? Did she already noticed his feelings for her back then? Did she set him up on dates because she didn't feel the same way? Whatever. Not like any of that made a goddamn difference anymore.

Well, guess what, even after they had reconnected during the time they co-led the new Avengers, Steve never did ask Natasha out on an _official_ date in fear of upsetting their status quo. Plus, he didn't even know back then whether she had completely gotten over her feelings for Bruce. The last thing that Steve's already mutilated heart needed was to hear Natasha say, _"Oh, I'm sorry, Steve. But I'm still in love with Bruce. It wouldn't be fair to you…"_ or _"Oh, I'm sorry, Steve. I just don't see you that way"_ , and then the next thing he knew, she would try to distant herself away from him after rejecting his love confession because things got too, ya' know? Awkward.

So, no. No widow-dates for Captain America.

Still, that didn't mean that Steve hadn't the desire to _go out_ with her. In fact, he did. All the time. It just couldn't be an official date was all. So anyway, whenever Steve felt like spending time with her outside the job, he would always guise their 'dates' as team bonding sessions, never 1 on 1. And, ahem, he might have shamelessly used his position as team leader to incorporate these so-called team bonding activities into the team's monthly agenda, not that anyone would ever know.

Most of the time, these 'dates' were fun.

 _Most_ of the time.

He could never _ever_ forget that one humiliating incident where he broke a beer bottle with his grip in a fit of jealousy after seeing two guys who had the balls to flirt with her right under his nose. No, actually, that wasn't quite accurate. He had a feeling that the beer bottle's unfortunate demise had absolutely nothing to do with the two dudes' attempts to flirt with her. Rather, he was _pre_ -tty sure it was the fact that _she_ had reciprocated the flirting which brought out this…this… _Cro-Magnon,_ side of him. In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing that the beer bottle broke, because if it hadn't, let's just say that those two guys would be using wheelchairs for the rest of their lives. Imagine that _._

But here's the funny thing about Steve Rogers. Despite experiencing these…heartfelt bouts of jealousy every time he saw Natasha flirting with another guy, the ultimate reason which had Steve believing that Natasha wasn't interested in him romantically was also the fact that Natasha was 'flirty' with him. Yeah, that's right, Natasha flirted with him too, the kind of playful and _meaningless_ flirting, exactly like the way she'd flirt with any other average Joe who had enough balls to approach her. But therein lies the problem, you see. It made Steve feel as though that to Natasha, he was just another guy she flirted with, like he was no better than the average Joe. However, with Bruce, she was completely… _different_. Her interactions with Bruce weren't just 'friendly', per se; they weren't just playful or sarcastic like with everybody else. With Bruce, she had shown a completely different side of herself, a side which was much more serious and _intense._ There were also strong signs of intimacy and _fondness_ in the way she behaved around Bruce. And then there was also this _look_ that she had, the special look that was reserved only for Bruce. It was this soft look of _adoration_ that she gave Bruce every time she looked at Bruce and _only Bruce_. And needless to say, there was also that little discovery from Steve's little domestic espionage stunt, which was the fact that Natasha was willing to share with Bruce her dark secrets. Secrets, which were unknown even to Clint. Ha. Ha. Ha. Like as if some dumb Brooklyn punk on self-replicating steroids could possibly top that.

Eventually, the Wakandan tropical fog had thicken to the point that the entire upper half of the Panther Statue was blotted out of Steve's view, mirroring the melancholia that had penetrated Steve's mental fortress and that had slowly began to gain control over his mood. With another long sigh of despair, Steve continued to mull and reflect over his relationship (or lack thereof) with the illustrious and beautiful Natasha Romanoff.

Believe it or not, Steve actually had the opportunity to turn the tides in his favor, an opportunity that he never took. That night during Stark's party to revel the acquisition of Loki's scepter, Steve's eyes never left the bar Natasha was tending. Why she was bartending Steve really had no clue. But she was there, looking as beautiful, elegant, sophisticated and classy as ever. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the party, or maybe it was the way Natasha's curvy figure leaned against the bar top, or maybe it was that Asgardian mead Thor had fed him, but something about that night had Steve feeling… bold. After downing that Asgardian mead, Steve strode towards Natasha like a man on a mission. His mission? To confront Natasha about her 'relationship' with Bruce, such as whether or not she had made things official with Bruce, or perhaps to obtain some form of emotional closure for himself – such as whether he still stood a goddamn chance with her or whether Natasha ever saw him in a non-platonic way. Point was, Steve Rogers wanted answers. But apparently, the Universe hated Steve's plan. Because just when Steve was about 20 feet away from that bar Natasha was tending… yep, you've guessed it – Bruce got to her first. So in the end, Steve just stood back and watched the drama unfold right before his eyes. Gotta hand it to Steve though, he watched the entire scene that night without breaking anything. Good thing he wasn't holding any bottles or glasses or anything back then. He didn't break anything. Hah! What a miraculous occurrence. He probably deserved a medal of honor for the exhibition of such a supreme form of self-control. From 20 feet away, Steve watched _and heard_ Natasha slowly worked Bruce up, her voice flirtatious but also with a touch of sincerity. _A lot_ of sincerity, in fact. To Steve, the way she had communicated with Bruce across the bar that night showed the depths of her feelings for the man. And her facial expression, God, was that the proverbial 'come-hither' look he had seen on her face that night? Boy, what a sight. Steve had never _ever_ seen Natasha looking like how she did with Bruce that night, so open and so… _whipped._ Heck, he'd never even thought that Natasha was capable of being that open with _anyone._

 _"But never say never…"_ Steve repeated Natasha's own words in a painful whisper that night as he observed their entire exchange from 20 feet away. And oh by the way, did he mention that he didn't break anything that night at the party? Yeah? Well, he wanna take that back, since that wasn't quite the truth. Because the truth was, he _did_ actually break something that night. He broke his heart.

The inevitable conclusion which came to Steve's mind that night was that Natasha was in love. With Bruce. Not that Steve hadn't had suspicions about that little fact before that night at the party. Pfft, okay, honestly, what Steve saw that night was merely a corroboration to an obvious truth which he had, until then, been too afraid to accept. The fact was that Steve knew, logically, that Natasha had every reason to fall for a man like Bruce Banner. Jesus, just _count_ the number of qualities that the man had. Intelligent, brilliant, a freaking genius for Heaven's sake, handsome, kind, classy and etcetera, etcetera. In other words, Bruce Banner was _everything_ that a dumb punk from Brooklyn wasn't. Bruce Banner had attractive qualities that didn't come out of a fucking test tube.

That night at the party, Steve truly felt like a goddamn fool for even thinking that he ever stood a chance with Natasha. He felt like a fool, for getting all excited and beatific when Tony called him back to the tower. He truly felt like the biggest, legitimate fool in the world. Heck, believe it or not, Steve even had a goddamn speech written down the night before he left Hungary for New York, yeah, that's right, a long, lame, cheesy speech written down in some cheap yellow pad to finally tell Natasha about his feelings. And God, that wasn't even the worst. Here's the saddest part: Steve had even been presumptuously, and pathetically _,_ _planning_ for his first date with Natasha while he was riding his bike to the Tower for the team's reassembling (he thought of taking her to that little place where he knew had the best milkshake in the world).

First date plans, the fucking speech, the thoughts of their first real kiss, his own naiveté, his stupid hopes and whatnot, all of them were crushed into a gazillion pieces the moment he arrived at the tower to see Natasha cozying up to one Bruce Banner.

Yeah, he was a fool. A fucking foolish fool.

Pragmatically speaking, Bruce's reluctance in taking the next step with Natasha was Steve's chance to turn the tides. He could have walked up to Bruce that night and spout all sort of crap about how Bruce should stay the hell away from Natasha, or about the Hulk being a threat to Natasha's personal safety. The gentleman in Steve, however, disagreed. After witnessing Natasha's little I'm-so-in-love-with-you-that-I'm-completely-open-when-I'm-with-you show that night? Steve had thrown in the towel right away. As much as it pained him, he could never ever allow himself to get in the way of Natasha's happiness. Clearly Bruce made Natasha happy, _extremely,_ happy. And Natasha _deserved_ all the happiness in the world, so Steve wouldn't allow himself to stand in the way. Therefore, he activated his self-sacrificial mode and did the honorable thing. He gave Bruce the push and tried to dwindle Bruce's reluctance in taking the next step with Natasha.

 _"You both deserve a win"_ , Steve had told Bruce that night, officially giving Bruce his blessings, all the while trying his damnest to keep a straight face. Undoubtedly, that selfless act had left Steve's heart completely _mutilated_ , a pain that transcended even the Super Soldier Serum's healing capacity.

Surprising?

Well. Not really. Putting himself on the line so that others could be happy? Hello? That literally had Steve Rogers written _all over it._

Steve Rogers the sacrificial martyr.

Steve Rogers the hero.

God's Righteous Man.

That's Steve Rogers for you, folks. The guy who would lay down on the wire and let _the other guy_ (quite literally in this case) crawl over him. The man who would always put other people's needs before his own. The man who was literally the _bane_ of the concept known as quid pro quo. The man who would sacrifice his own happiness for the happiness of others. The selfless guy who left the first woman he loved behind and plunged a plane into the ocean to save an entire city. The selfless guy who silently pushed the second woman he loved into the arms of another man just so she could be happy. It didn't matter that it was all at his expense, and it didn't matter that he himself was hurting, because he would always find a way to complete the mission somehow like a good soldier. As long as the people he cared about were happy and safe, he would consider his duty done, mission accomplished. Even though it was all at his fucking expense.

 _The man who sacrificed EVERYTHING…_

The good man, that Abraham Erskine had wanted him to become. At least he got this part right.

 _At least I've kept my promise to Dr. Erskine so far. Being a good man, doing the right thing and all. Cheers to me._ Steve thought wryly to himself as he continued his incessant staring out of the fancy windows at the lobby. His gaze remained fixated on the Panther statue, mainly because the statue was then the only object visible amidst the thick fog. His eyes was really beginning to hurt due to all his staring – he wasn't even sure when the last time he blinked was – but he didn't care.

The mist cleared away slightly to reveal the Panther's head once more. The mid-section of the statue, however, remained obscured; like an object missing its core; like a man, stripped of his heart and soul.

Like the current Steve Rogers.

* * *

Steve's melancholic reminiscence ended when he picked up the sound of footsteps from behind him. He made no effort to turn around but straightened his posture nonetheless. Always ready for a fight, like a good soldier. Using the reflections on the window, Steve saw that the person approaching him was none other than his host, King T'Challa. T'Challa stopped on Steve's left and they both shared a moment of silence.

"Thank you for this, Your Highness. What you did to help Bucky… that's very kind and honorable of you, despite everything that happened…" Steve said, still staring out of the window.

"Your friend and my father… They were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace…then I will. Consider it my way of honoring them." said the King.

Another moment of silence passed before Steve spoke again, "You know if they find out that he's here…they'll come for him. HYDRA, the government… everyone."

King T'Challa, unfazed by the warning, merely took a step forward and declared, "Let them try… and if they do, rest assured that they will have the full wrath of the Black Panther awaiting them behind the walls of Wakanda."

Steve stood in awe of T'Challa's bravery, and had obviously refrained himself from commenting about how HYDRA wasn't a force to be trifled with and that HYDRA had every capability to infiltrate any nation, vibranium-rich or not.

At Steve's silence, T'Challa continued, "Justice, is Wakanda's code. It is what our nation represents; just like how America represents freedom and liberty. The moment I assumed the mantle of the Black Panther, I had taken an oath to uphold the very same code which had guided my forefathers for so many generations. And therefore, let it be my first decree as the King of Wakanda that your friend be granted liberation and protection from all the injustice and sufferings he had endured hitherto. Mark my words as I say it, Captain. I _will_ protect your friend. No harm would come to your friend as long as _I_ live. That is my promise to you as both warrior and king."

Just like that, Steve's respect for the young ruler of Wakanda proliferated.

"You would make a great king, Your Highness. In fact, I think that you already are." Steve said with unmasked respect and admiration for the new King of Wakanda.

"Thank you, Captain."

"I mean no disrespect, Your Highness, but I gotta ask. How did you know that we were in Siberia?"

"I followed Stark. I knew that he would lead me to you." T'Challa replied tersely.

Steve nodded.

"Zemo. Where is he now?" asked Steve.

"I handed him over to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre (JCTC). Stark and I personally escorted him into his holding cell at the Raft prison." T'Challa said.

"What about Stark? Is he okay?" Steve asked.

"Yes, he is. Physically, he seemed fine to me. He returned to the compound after the escort. I didn't reveal your location to him."

Steve nodded in gratitude, "Thank you, Your Highness."

Another stretch of silence passed before Steve broke it, "How much does Ross know?"

"Everything. Including Miss Romanoff's actions at the hangar…" T'Challa said ruefully.

Steve visibly tensed, "Is she alright? They didn't catch her, did they?" _God, please… not her too…please no…_

"No. Ross hasn't found her yet. They raided the compound, but she was long gone. And there were neither physical nor digital traces of her. She's _very_ good." T'Challa said approvingly, clearly impressed by Natasha's adept in espionage.

Steve felt waves of relief spread through his body instantly, but schooled his expressions nonetheless lest he reveal to T'Challa the romantic feelings he still felt for Natasha.

"I'm sorry, Captain. It was I who told Ross about Miss Romanoff's actions. But that was before I found out the truth about what happened." T'Challa explained.

"It's not your fault, Your Highness. You were only doing what you believed was right. That's all any of us can do." Steve said.

T'Challa nodded his approval at Steve's worldview.

Suddenly piqued by the events that occurred in Siberia, Steve asked, "Do you know what happened to Zemo after the fighting started? In Siberia, I mean."

"Yes, I do. I was hiding in the shadows, listening. After I learnt about Zemo's orchestration of everything that happened, I followed him. When the 3 of you took your fight away from the lab, I saw the 5 Cryochambers blow up. Zemo probably planted explosives in the chambers before you three had even arrived and then most likely triggered the explosives when you guys weren't looking. Afterwards, he had attempted to flee the facility. I ambushed him outside and subdued him. He even tried to take his own life when I subdued him, had a cyanide pill in his tooth, but I managed to prevent it." T'Challa explained.

"He blew the chambers? Why?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. I asked him, but he kept quiet. Never said a single word the entire journey to his prison cell." T'Challa explained.

"I don't like this. If it was just revenge he was after, why bother _destroying_ the bodies? There wouldn't be much point in that unless there were something in the bodies that he wanted to conceal." Steve reasoned.

"I checked the bodies. They were destroyed, completely. I took the remaining ashes that I could salvage and passed them to my scientists. Nothing could be learned from them, unfortunately. Not even a DNA test could be done." T'Challa said.

"I see. Can you keep an eye on Zemo? Something fishy is going on here and I don't like the idea of us not keeping tabs on him. This guy planned the whole thing and played every single one of us like pawns in his game. Also, start digging into his past. Maybe he has allies, friends, people who shared his cause, anything. Find out what he was trying to hide. We don't know what else he's got under his sleeves. Until we do, he remains a threat." Steve said gravely.

"Yes I will. Stark and I agreed on that. We will both keep an eye on Zemo. But for now, worry not Captain. Even if there was something bigger going on, I highly doubt that Zemo had anything to do with it. Because why would he attempt suicide if his plans were still unfinished?" T'Challa reasoned.

Steve nodded in understanding and decided to put his worries aside. Temporarily, anyway.

"How are your injuries? Here in Wakanda, we provide top notch medical facilities. Do feel free to take advantage of our facilities and tend to your injuries, Captain. I assure you, they can be _very_ helpful." T'Challa said.

Steve politely declined, "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome, I have troubled you enough already. Besides, I heal fast. Surface wounds would heal in another hour. And the few broken ribs would heal by the end of tomorrow."

"I see. But the offer still stands in case you change your mind. And for the record, you are always welcomed here, Captain." T'Challa said.

Steve nodded gratefully "I appreciate it, Your Highness."

"Alright, Captain. I do hope that you have an enjoyable stay in Wakanda." T'Challa said before turning to leave.

After a few steps, T'Challa halted and said, "For what it's worth, Captain. I'm deeply sorry about what happened to you and your allies. And do know that if the circumstances were different, I myself would have done things differently. "

A sad smile formed on the Captain's features, "Well, Your Highness. Sometimes, you either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain."

"Captain," said the King of Wakanda, his voice stern, "allow me to say this, from one warrior to another. You were never a villain, not to me, and certainly not to your allies who fought by your side. You are an honorable soldier, a great warrior and most importantly, a good man. The world might be blind to it, but the lives and cities that you had saved speak for themselves. A man's worth is determined not by the amount of public recognition he receives, but by his actions and intentions. Just because the world failed to recognize your worth doesn't mean that you aren't worthy, Captain. Remember, it often takes another warrior to recognize the true worth of a warrior. Take your allies who stood by you throughout this ordeal, for instance. What _I_ saw, was that you have a team of brave and honorable warriors who willingly sacrificed their freedom to aid your cause and follow you into battle. They did it because _they recognized your worth_. And as a final piece of advice. Do not be swayed by your doubts, Captain. Stay true to what you stand for, and keep fighting. Prove the world wrong."

T'Challa started to walk away again only to be interrupted by Steve's voice, "Your Highness."

T'Challa paused in his strides and turned around to face Steve, "Yes, Captain?"

"Thank you, for your encouraging words. I really appreciate it…" Steve paused, seemingly hesitating, "… but can I ask you for another favor?" Steve asked.

"Of course."

Steve was pleading.

"If Romanoff ever contacts you… can you…can you keep her safe for me? I mean, _if_ she needs a place to hide, that is…" Steve sighed, "I know that this is a lot to ask for, but Romanoff… she's… she's a good person who's had a very tough life. She's very important to me, to us – the team. And now, she got caught up in this mess, and I just…" Steve stood up straighter, "We can't lose her, Your Highness. We can't." Steve spoke earnestly, hoping to gain T'Challa's understanding.

"Consider it done." T'Challa left the lobby and headed straight for the Cryogenics Lab.

* * *

 **Author's notes:**

Okay. That was tedious as hell. I don't think I have the energy to do this anymore.

If you are interested, you are welcome to follow this story on AO3. Just search for the story name on AO3 and you should be able to find it.

Thank you for reading.


	9. Chapter 9: Catharsis

_"Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go." – Hermann Hesse, Winner of 1946 Nobel Prize in Literature_

* * *

Hitherto, Steve Rogers could readily identify at least two downsides of his seven-decade long experience as a human Popsicle. One, you'd be given weird monikers for the rest of your miserable life (stupid Tony). And two, you'd never be able to walk in the tropics again without looking like a, well, Popsicle. Don't believe him? Okay. Picture this. You're in a dessert. A hellish, scorching dessert. And in your hand, you have a Popsicle (sans the wrapper, obviously). Now. Hold that image for 20 seconds, feel the heat of your surroundings. There will be no breeze, no wind, just the scorching sun and your own burning skin (sort of like a natural oven). You'll soon realize that you've begun to sweat, _profusely._ And now take a look at the Popsicle in your hand. You'll see immediately that it's melting. Droplets of fluid will begin to flow down the Popsicle's body as it melts, just like how droplets of fluid will begin to flow down your own body as it sweats. See the resemblance now? Okay. Good. Because that was _exactly_ what Steve felt like right then as he stood outside the glass door at the WIS Cryogenics Department building's main entrance. Standing there, completely swamped by a wave of sweltering tropical heat, Steve Rogers felt like a goddamn Popsicle on the verge of melting into a puddle.

Steve's conversation with T'Challa earlier had left his mind positively reeling. Aside from being reminded that Sam, Clint, and the rest of his team were currently imprisoned somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, there was also something else that had Steve on pins and needles.

Zemo had destroyed the Cryochambers back in Siberia. Zemo had blown the Winter Soldiers to crisps. All 5 of them.

Baffling.

What could Zemo possibly gain from that? What else was he involved in? There could be no explanation other than the fact that there was something in the test subjects' bodies that Zemo wanted to conceal. But what was it? What was it that had driven Zemo to go through such lengths? What damaging information could the bodies of 5 supersoldiers (which had been uncovered only recently) possibly contain? Hell, even if the bodies did somehow contain classified information, how would it even relate to Zemo himself? According to Bucky, the 5 Winter Soldiers went as far back as the 1950s, way back into Howard Stark's time. Zemo wasn't even born back then. Heck, Zemo's parents probably hadn't even met yet. So what could possibly be the connection between the Winter Soldiers and Zemo? And how the hell did Zemo even know of the existence of the 5 Winter Soldiers in the first place? None of the intel on the Winter Soldier projects were contained in Pierce's HYDRA files, or else Tony would've found them ages ago. Also, Bucky would've been found ages ago too if HYDRA had included all intel on the Winter Soldier projects in Pierce's files. How did Zemo know?

And what the hell was Zemo's true motive? What could he be trying to hide?

Steve treaded across the large internal compound of the WIS' building towards the gates. The entire building had maximum security, Steve noted. Which was a good thing, considering the fact that the building currently housed his best friend. Pfft, he wasn't even sure if 'housed' was the right word (the whole arrangement was more like those cold storage thingies). But anyhow, security was airtight, too airtight. It was like not even a fly could cross the building's borders without triggering some form of sensor. For a moment, it really made Steve wonder about the kinds of secrets that might be contained in the WIS building. Drugs? Weapons? Vehicles? Jets? God forbid, more supersoldiers? Steve quickly shook off the unwanted dread at his morbid thoughts.

The entire WIS building was surrounded by tall vibranium fences. Security drones equipped with Taser guns floated about the area, constantly scanning for threats and intruders. The whole thing with the drones reminded Steve a little of Tony's Iron Legion protocol. One or two drones floated past him as he walked. They stopped only to hover in front of his face for a second before flying off. Probably doing some facial recognition scans. These mechanical creatures never rest, Steve noted. They could go on all day without stopping. No shift-changes required. Inhumane, mechanical, solar-powered robots. If this was what the distant future looked like, then Steve would unequivocally say that he didn't want to be any part of it. The last time Steve lived in a robotic world, he saw a friggin' city uprooted from the ground, floating in the sky, waiting to be used as an artificial meteorite to wipe out humanity.

So, no. No robots.

There were two gates in total. One on the east side of the building, and the other on the west. Steve headed towards the west gate, the one he had used upon his arrival to the building that morning. At the west gate, Steve stopped, and nodded towards the surveillance camera positioned outside the vibranium security booth. The booth's window slid open to reveal a security guard on duty, as in an actual security guard, human, with flesh and bone. It was quite a surprise that they hadn't used drones for these kinds of positions. Perhaps the policy makers wanted to boost Wakanda's employment rate or something.

Steve handed his visitor's key card to the guard and waited for the gates to open. They were supposed to verify the identity of anything (yes _anything_ , not _anyone,_ it didn't just concern humans) entering and leaving the facility, and log the data into their system. Heck, at this rate, they'd probably even have a computer program scanning through their logs at all times to look for suspicious activity. See? Like he said before, not even a fly could enter or leave without them knowing. What a diligent bunch.

While waiting for the gates, a sudden thought occurred to Steve.

Supposing the working hypothesis was that Zemo destroyed the test subjects in order to conceal something in their bodies, then, surely, the best way to figure out Zemo's real motive would be by first identifying the type of information most likely contained in the test subjects' bodies. That would, in theory, narrow down the list of possible motives.

Okay.

So what type of information, then? Was it the identities of the test subjects? Were any of the test subjects political figures of the past? Or children of important political figures of the past? Was Zemo's motive political? Was it to avoid a political scandal such as that a previous politician (or someone related to a past politician) was actually HYDRA-affiliated?

Another thought came upon Steve.

What if one of the test subjects were biologically related to Zemo? If that were the case, then, surely Zemo wouldn't want anything HYDRA-related to lead back to his own sorry ass, right? What with the secret soldiers now being out in the open and all that. Surely that would be enough incentive to blow the test subjects to kingdom come? But no. No, that wouldn't make sense, since Zemo had destroyed all _five_ of them. It was quite unlikely that all _five_ of them were somehow related to Zemo. Besides, if they were truly blood related to Zemo, would Zemo blow them to crisp in such heartless a manner…? Okay, on second thought, the latter might still be very much within the realm of possibility, considering the fact that Zemo had blown up the friggin' UN just to lure the Avengers to Siberia.

A recent memory flashed before Steve's eyes. Back in Siberia a day ago, Steve remembered Zemo's own words directed at the three of them (Tony, Bucky, and Steve himself)

 _"If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep… did you really think that I wanted more of you?"_

The serum.

What if it was the serum that Zemo had wanted to destroy? Zemo said so himself, back in Siberia, that he despised enhanced beings, and that he wouldn't want any more of them existing in this world. Was that it?

Somehow, Steve's gut told him that things couldn't possibly be that simple.

The retinal scanner beside the gate came to life, and a mechanical voice requested Steve to step forward. Steve did as he was instructed, and a few seconds later, the gate opened to reveal bustling Wakandan streets.

* * *

Unfortunately for Steve, he soon realized that all his previous questions only led to more questions. Questions, whose solutions seemed so far beyond his reach right then. The whole incident smelled incredibly funky, it literally had trouble written all over it. Something else was going on, and Steve hadn't a goddamn clue as to what it was. Worst, he didn't even have a team to back him up this time.

He really missed all the times when Natasha was right beside him. They'd go over ideas and insights together, completing each other's sentences… God, he missed those times. He missed Natasha. Period.

Plagued by dejection and gloom, Steve began dragging his feet in the direction of his visitors' suite (T'Challa had been kind enough to provide Steve with top notch accommodation for free). Naturally, the stifling afternoon heat was of no help at all in lifting his spirits. For every five steps he took, he hoped and prayed for a much needed gust of wind, hell, even a light breeze would do, but none came. Instead, he was left with a skin-melting sensation all over his body, and a cranky mood. Soon enough, he could feel drops of perspiration collecting in his eyebrows, dropping onto his shirt, dropping onto his arms. Almost as if it was raining, he thought, a little amused. Perhaps there was a modicum of truth after all in that silly old saying about walking around with a gloomy storm cloud above one's head.

Then again, there was a silver lining to everything, he realized. Steve couldn't even begin to describe the relief he had felt when T'Challa told him regarding the task force's failure in apprehending Natasha. The relief had been monumental, like as if he could finally breathe properly again. And even better, T'Challa had agreed to provide Natasha with protection and refuge if she ever needed it. Just like what he had done for Bucky.

Speaking of Bucky…

For some unknown reasons, even the knowledge that Bucky was in safe and capable hands failed to allay Steve's heavy heart. Steve knew he had done everything he possibly could to protect his friend. And _this_ now, here, in Wakanda, was undeniably Bucky's best circumstance thus far. This was Bucky's best shot at being safe, Steve knew that. There could be no safer place that Bucky could be in than right here in Wakanda. No one could get to him so easily if he was here. Not HYDRA. Not the taskforce. Not the government. Bucky was _safe._ All very reassuring thoughts. So why wasn't Steve relieved at all?

Plus, Steve knew that Bucky was innocent. Bucky was a victim. So in a way, Steve had done the right thing. Protecting Bucky, uncovering Zemo's plot, going after the Winter Soldiers? All of those were the right things to do. Okay, admittedly, there were one or two things that Steve could have handled a little better, but regardless, everything he had done hitherto were all done with the right intentions. So where was that sense of fulfillment, that sense of _satisfaction_ which would usually come after knowing that he had done the right thing? Somehow, this time was just _different._ This time, Steve felt no peace at all despite knowing that he had done the right thing.

It was vexing, to say the least.

Because for the very first time in Steve Rogers' life, doing the right thing felt _wrong._

Everything felt wrong.

Just, _wrong._

Like a mismatched jigsaw piece that couldn't possibly fit into the larger puzzle of his life.

Where was all his sense of purpose? His sense of duty? Why did he feel so weak? So lost?

Lost. He felt so lost, like as if he no longer had any form of control in his life; like as if he was in the middle of a giant lake with no land in sight, just letting the waves push him to wherever they intended him to go.

He was drifting.

He felt heavy, and yet so _empty_ at the same time.

What a strange sensation.

* * *

They often say that nature does wonders for the soul.

And it just so happened to be true in Steve Rogers' case that afternoon. Mother Nature came to Steve's rescue. Somewhere along promenading the busy streets of Central Wakanda, Steve felt his soul slightly revitalized.

Perhaps it was the beautiful afternoon sun, or maybe it was the pleasant tropical scent wafting in the air (the smell of damp leaves, sodden twigs and earth was omnipresent in Central Wakanda), but there was just _something_ in the Wakandan ambience that afternoon which pulled him out of his misery; something which made the afternoon heat a tad bit more bearable. And almost immediately, Steve found the notion of self-confinement in an empty suite positively revolting. The afternoon was just too beautiful to be wasted indoors. What was he supposed to do back in an empty suite anyway? Sleep? Stare at walls? Yeah, well, unlike a certain redhead, Steve Rogers seriously couldn't find anything appealing on any goddamn wall worth staring at. A lazy afternoon stroll sounded like the better way to go.

Besides, an excursion would serve as the perfect opportunity to take his mind off things, clear his head a bit. He could use the time to distract his mind and let it rest until he was ready to start figuring out his next move. He knew he would have to deal with whatever fallout which had befallen his friends. But for that, he also needed a clear head. He needed this.

Bypassing the route to his guest suite, Steve strolled towards Central Wakanda's commercial area, which was conveniently located right at the heart of town. He figured it to be the smartest way to start off, since there was this massive direction board (and a huge map of Central Wakanda) located there, which he could then use as a guide. After perusing and memorizing the map, he quickly moved on to his next stop.

His next stop was a flea market of some sort. Some kind of bazaar. The place was buzzing with activity by the time Steve got there. Store owners were shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs in some local tongue which he hadn't any inkling of. A group of street performers tapped away on their huge drums while another bunch plucked diligently at some weird-looking stringed instruments. There was also a man among the crowd, who was juggling ten balls while balancing 3 bottles on top of his head. It was… _normal._ Not that juggling ten balls while balancing bottles was the usual definition of 'normal'. But this was _life._ These people had actual _lives_ to live. They had lives worth living. They were all so… happy. And _carefree._ These people truly _lived._

All of a sudden, looking at the scene surrounding him, looking at the lives of the strangers around him and the pure joy surrounding these people, Steve realized something. He realized that _this,_ was what the Avengers were truly meant to fight for. This was why they fight, to preserve the lives and freedom of these people. To preserve joy and happiness in the world. To preserve freedom. Now, _that,_ was why they fight. That was their true calling. That was supposed to be what the Avengers Initiative was all about. The Avengers were meant to be the sentinels of freedom. Not as tools in some bureaucratic agenda.

One particular store in the flea market caught Steve's eye. It was the only store with an English name:

THE OUTSIDERS

The store turned out to be a distributor of miscellaneous goods, goods pertaining to other cultures outside the borders of Wakanda, hence the store's name. Steve scanned and took in the entirety of the store, and found many things of interest to him. But he also thought it strange when he found no signs of the store owner's presence. At one corner of the store, Steve saw a myriad of booklets on display. Each booklet for sale featured each country from the outside world. Steve spied the booklet which featured the Unite States of America, and was quite surprised to see his own face plastered on the booklet's front cover. A national symbol. A hero. A Captain. Those titles which were already lost to him. The world no longer saw him as a hero, but as a fugitive. To the eyes of the public, Steve Rogers was probably nothing more than a failed science experiment. He was Captain America no more. And what good was Steve Rogers if he wasn't Captain America anymore? Was there even a place in the world for him other than being Captain America?

Steve's hand seemed to possess a mind of its own when it crawled its way towards the booklet featuring Russia. Without much restraint from his brain, his fingers picked up the booklet. Dreamily, Steve's hand caressed the booklet's front cover, his fingers hovering over the mosque-like printed figure of the Kremlin.

 _Nat…_

 _Where are you?_

 _Are you safe?_

 _I miss you…_

 _Find me…_

 _Or let me find you…_

 _Let me touch you…_

 _So that I know that you're okay…_

Steve flipped to a random page, and saw the figure of a beautiful woman clad in a leotard.

A ballerina.

 _Natasha…_

 _I love you._

Steve dropped the booklet like as if its surface had suddenly scalded his skin. He let out a ragged sigh and tore his gaze away from the booklets' corner.

 _Get a fucking grip, Rogers._

The store was quite large. On the walls, there were huge racks with printed T-shirts on display. There were also bags and, hell, even slippers. Steve's sight fell on the store's trinkets section next. There, he spotted something quite ornate. It was a bunch of wax figurines. All exquisitely manufactured. They were all relatively small (compared to an actual wax sculpture of someone), probably about the same size of his palm. Most of the figurines, Steve noticed, were of historical figures, some of which he could readily recognize (thanks to Natasha's many history lessons). On the display rack, he easily spotted figurines of Albert Einstein, Richard Feynman, Isaac Newton, Stephen Hawking, Charles Darwin, Neil Armstrong, Gandhi, Leonardo Da Vinci, Mozart, Beethoven, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Martin Luther King Jr, Marilyn Monroe, and hell, even Adolf Hitler. But the next bunch were the ones that actually brought a genuine smile to Steve's face. They were a bunch of special figurines singled out from the main collection and placed in their own section.

Steve chuckled.

It was a collection of figurines featuring the founding members of the Avengers. The 6 veterans. Himself. Natasha. Tony in his Iron Man suit. Clint. Thor. And the Hulk. The Avengers' figurines, Steve noticed, were a little bit different from the rest. Because on the back of each Avengers' figurine there was this little pin with a metal chain attached to it. An interesting feature.

Somehow, his naughty fingers (magically) ended up caressing Natasha's figurine. He picked it up and studied it. The figurine was modelled based on Natasha in her full Black Widow combat suit.

 _Damn. It looked just like her._

And upon further scrutiny, Steve realized that it was the newest version of her catsuit, the same one she wore when they fought against Ultron last year. Steve then inferred that the creator must have based it on the Natasha from a year ago during Ultron's reign. Which would make sense, considering the design of the figurine's combat suit, and also the fact that the figurine had short hair. Regardless, the figurine was beautifully made. Whoever made it was highly skilled, no doubt. As a fellow artist, Steve could truly appreciate the beauty of it. The attention to detail, for instance, was absolutely astounding. Despite its relatively small size, the figurine had most of Natasha's telling features captured. The fiery red hair, the sparkling green of her emerald eyes, the plumpness of her lips, the fullness of her chest and backside, the glowing blue of her batons, the metallic glint of her Glocks holstered on her thighs, the curviness of her figure. God, even as a figurine, Natasha Romanoff was gorgeous.

A gorgeous figurine based on a gorgeous woman.

 _God bless whoever that made this._

"It's a masterpiece, isn't it?" A thickly accented male voice sounded from behind him.

Steve turned around and saw a middle aged man with a girl standing beside him.

 _Must be the store owner._

"Indeed it is, sir. It's stunning. Did you make these?"

"No, I didn't. But my daughter did." said the man as he pushed the girl a couple of feet forward. The girl stumbled a couple of steps ahead towards where Steve stood.

To say that Steve was materially impressed would be a severe understatement. Because that girl looked so young, _too_ young. She seemed to be barely ten of age, yet she possessed such astounding artistic genius. _Wow._

"I'm Steve." Steve held out his hand towards the little girl.

The girl took his outstretched hand rather shyly before shaking it.

"Hel…Hello. I know your name already." The girl blurted out abruptly before darting backwards to hide behind her father.

The girl's father laughed and smiled proudly at his daughter, "Sorry, Captain. This one's a little shy. And she's a big fan."

The man muttered a few words to his daughter in local tongue before he pulled the girl from behind his back and pushed her forward once again.

This time, Steve crouched down so that he was at eye-level with the girl, "Hi, Ma'am. May I know your name?"

"Adanna."

"Adanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. It's really nice to meet you, Miss Adanna. I'm Steve Rogers."

"I… I know." The girl blushed furiously.

Chuckling, Steve waved Natasha's figurine in front of the girl's face and asked, "Did you make this?"

"Yes."

"This is really beautiful, Adanna. I adore it."

The girl's blush deepened, "Thank you."

"How old are you, young lady? If I may ask."

The girl looked up at her father instead of answering.

"My little Adanna is turning twelve this year, Captain." said the man with yet another proud grin.

Still a little dazed, Steve stood up slowly from his crouching position, "Twelve… So young." Steve's gaze went back to the figurine in his hand and said, "And she's really talented."

"She is isn't she?"

"How much can I get one of these for?" Steve asked.

"For the special Avengers figurines we sell them at an equivalent price of 15 US dollars per piece."

Knowing that the store accepted foreign currencies (God knows why though. It wasn't like they have much foreign visitors here in Wakanda), Steve brightened up.

"I'll take it."

At that, the man murmured something to his daughter. The girl disappeared to the back of the store seconds later.

"Just this one?" asked the man strangely.

Steve stared at Natasha's figurine affectionately, his eyes tracing every curve and every feature of the beautiful wax figurine.

"Yeah… just this one."

Steve looked back up only to discover the other man's knowing stare directed at him.

"So the Black Widow. She is dear to you?"

Steve smiled wanly, "Yes, she is. Very."

"Lovers?" the man smiled back.

Steve felt a slight twitch in his eye.

Probably some dust. Or pollen. Yeah. Just dust. Nothing else. Right.

"No. Not lovers. Just… very close friends." Steve replied with a light shake of his head, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"She's her favorite too, you know?" remarked the man.

"Pardon?"

"The Black Widow. She's my daughter's favorite."

Steve smiled a little at that, "I see. So the Black Widow has a young fan. I'll make sure to let her know…"

 _If I ever see her again…_ Steve thought sadly.

The man let out a sigh.

"It took Adanna the longest time to finish The Black Widow's figurine. 2 months, Captain. 2 months."

"How about the rest?"

"The rest only took her 2 weeks."

"2 weeks for each figurine?" Steve asked, slightly shocked.

"Yes."

Yet the little girl dedicated 2 long months just for Natasha's figurine. Four times longer than the other figurines. That itself, spoke volumes of the young girl's admiration of Natasha.

Steve's gaze fell onto the figurine on his hand. Well, he wasn't that surprised, really. Considering the sheer amount of details which contained in that one small item on his hand. Every single one of Natasha's most ravishing features were there on the figurine. The curvatures and topographies of her face. The curves of her body, of her legs. Even the color of the figurine's irises matched perfectly.

 _So beautiful._

Steve nodded, "Just by looking at her outstanding work, I can see that your daughter truly looks up to the Black Widow."

"She does. She always said that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger after…" The man's voice turned sad at the end.

"So there's a back story…" Steve remarked warily.

Steve stared at the other man, waiting to see if the latter was willing to divulge. The man seemed hesitant.

After a good ten seconds of awkward silence, Steve decided to put the man out of his misery, "You don't have to say anything you don't want to, sir. This clearly concerns your daughter's private life. I'll respect that."

The other man waved him off and began talking, which made Steve realized that it probably wasn't because the man didn't want to talk about it, but because the man himself was still trying to find the right words for it.

"Adanna… when she was 8 years old, she was... assaulted. Sexually."

Steve felt his jaw clench.

"I'm sorry." said Steve, his face wore a grim expression.

Steve saw guilt flash in the man's eyes.

"It was my fault. I left her alone at the store one late evening. Then a man came in and just…"

Steve nodded in comprehension of the unsaid words. In fact, Steve had hoped to spare the other man from having to actually say the words. Those words which had undoubtedly haunted the man's sleep every night. Having once failed Bucky, Steve could totally relate to that type of pain. That haunting guilt. All the nightmares. But Steve expected this guy's experience to be infinitely worse. The guilt behind failing one's own child, one's own flesh and blood; that was pretty much insurmountable.

"Was he ever caught?"

"Caught 2 days after the incident by the royal guards. The late King T'Chaka made sure of the culprit's exile and imprisonment. He was locked up in a prison somewhere outside Wakanda."

"How did Adanna fare afterwards? Did she ever recover?"

"Not mentally. She became closed off ever since that incident. It pains me greatly to see her go through such ordeal."

Steve's hand rested on the man's shoulder in a firm grip, "Sir, whatever it is, I believe that your daughter will fully overcome it one day. The fact that she's now back in this store helping you run it? I think that's saying a lot. I mean, this store is where it all happened, and yet she's still here. Instead of running away, she chooses to face her demons head on. That takes a lot of courage and strength. You should be proud, sir. Your daughter is a strong girl." said Steve with unmasked admiration for the young girl.

The man's eyes misted over.

Steve threw him a reassuring smile and said, "And besides, she does seem fine now, sir, wouldn't you say? A little shy, but she seems okay."

"Yes she does." The man paused slightly, "And I believe I have the Black Widow to thank for all that, Captain."

"Really now?" Steve's eyes lit up gleefully, gratefully filing away that information for future use – mainly when he needed to convince Natasha that she wasn't the monster she thought she was.

"Indeed. Adanna told me herself that the Black Widow inspired her to be stronger, and to overcome whatever obstacles thrown in her way. In fact, shortly after she came to know about the Black Widow, my little Adanna bounced back, Captain. Started devoting her time to making these figurines." the man gestured across the rack with all the figurines.

"And at the same time she also found her talent." Steve nodded appreciatively, feeling proud of the little girl, even when he was barely acquainted with her.

For a moment, neither men spoke.

"Fascinating isn't it, Captain, what one person could do to change the life of another even without knowing it…" said the store owner.

 _Amen to that._

Just then the little girl emerged from the back of the store carrying a big tray containing a bunch of card-sized metal plates. The metal plates reminded Steve of the scaled up versions of his military dog tags.

The man procured a piece of paper and a pen from God knows where (Steve wouldn't know, because he was too busy staring at the little girl with new found admiration).

"Now Captain, would you care to write down your inscription?"

For a moment, Steve looked confused, "Excuse me?"

"You see that metal chain at the back of the figurine?"

Steve stared down at his hand and turned the figurine around.

Something clicked in the good Captain's mind.

"Right. I see. So that's what the chain is for… To attach those metal plates onto the figurine?" Steve stole a quick glance at the tray containing the plates on the little girl's hand.

"That's correct. If you would write down your message, I could have it engraved onto one of the metal plates by the end of today."

In a heartbeat, Steve agreed and took the pen and paper. It took him a couple of moments of quiet thought before he began writing on the paper.

"So I'd come by the store tomorrow then? To collect the figurine." said Steve when he passed the pen and paper back to the man together with the required cash for their transaction.

"I'd do you one better, Captain. I'd have it delivered to your accommodation. You're staying at one of His Highness' Guest suites, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright then. It should be there at the front reception by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, sir."

"One last thing before you go, Captain. You have to choose the metal plate you want your message engraved on."

Adanna held out the tray to Steve. The latter perused the options with fascination. The choices were quite diversified and they came with numerous sizes and shapes. There were those with the most basic shapes: squares, circles, ovals, ellipses. Then there was one which took a shape resembling a cloud. And then there was-

Steve's eyes lit up.

 _This is it._

Without a second's hesitation, Steve made his choice. It was a metal plate with a shape resembling the outline of a pair of wings – angel's wings. The wings would complement Natasha's figurine aesthetically. But more importantly, it'd add metaphorical meaning to the whole gift.

"Good choice, Captain." the owner remarked with a smile.

Steve nodded and turned to leave, but stopped short at mid-turn, as if an idea just hit him.

He slowly turned back to face the owner, his expression nothing but serious.

"Just now, you mentioned something about how one person could change the life of a complete stranger…" Steve said.

"I did."

"Sir, if I were to give you and Adanna the chance to change the life of a complete stranger for the better, would you agree to it?"

The man frowned, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Captain. What are you suggesting?"

"You said that the Black Widow inspired Adanna greatly. So if you don't mind, I was thinking maybe Adanna could leave a message or something for her hero? You could include it together with the package you'll be delivering to my suite tomorrow, and then I'll pass the message along to the Black Widow for you when I meet her. " Steve turned to smile at the little girl.

The girl's father stared blankly at Steve, which immediately had Steve panicking, fearing that he had somehow crossed a line and committed some kind of faux pas.

Steve added quickly, "It doesn't have to be long or anything. I mean, it could be a simple handwritten message, or a drawing, or even that same metal plate engraving."

"Adanna? What do you think?" The man turned to his daughter.

The shy little girl whispered something unintelligible into her father's ear.

"She wishes to know how her message could possibly change the life an Avenger."

Steve nodded. _A fair question, I suppose._

"Our jobs…" Steve sighed, "Sometimes to us, it feels like nothing we do ever make any difference. And more recently, people are even happy to call us villains and vigilantes instead of heroes. It's like, all that we ever did was making things worse rather than better."

"We both know that's not true, Captain. The Avengers saved the world. Twice."

Steve threw a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"And that's why Adanna's message will mean a lot to the Black Widow, to all of us, even. It really helps to be reminded that what we do really does make a difference in people's lives. A good difference."

The owner nodded in understanding.

Steve continued, "Look, I can't exactly go into too much details here. But I think among all the Avengers, the Black Widow's the one who needs these kinds of reminders the most. Natasha… She's a wonderful woman who's had a very tough life. Most of the time, she finds it hard to see the good in herself. So if… if Adanna's willing to leave a message, then it'll serve as a reminder to Natasha, to all of us, really. If you do that, then I can assure you, it'll mean a lot to Natasha."

"I'll do it." said the little girl resolutely.

Steve smiled in relief and crouched down, "Thank you, Ma'am. I really appreciate that."

"You're welcome…"

For a while, Steve paused, as if thinking hard about his next question. Then his expression turned playful, "Say, Adanna, would you like to meet your hero one day?"

The little girl's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Of course. I'll even tell her all about you when I meet her. And we'll come visit you when the time's right. So, what do you say, Miss Adanna? Excited to meet the Black Widow?"

"Oh, yes! That's great! Baba! I can't believe this is happening…" the little girl pulled at her father's sleeves, her eyes filled with unshed tears of joy.

Her father smiled and chastised her for her rudeness, causing the girl to tamper down her excitement and return her attention to Steve.

"Thank you so much, Captain. I truly look forward to meeting her."

Steve chuckled and patted the girl's head, "I know. And please, it's Steve."

"Will she really come see me?"

Steve smiled a little, "Trust me little miss. She most definitely will."

The girl squealed, "Oh, I'm so happy…"

"Good. So until we meet next time, promise me that you'll take good care of yourself and your daddy, okay?"

"I promise."

Steve stood back up and extended his hand to the owner, "Thank you for all this."

The latter shook the extended hand, "You're welcome. It is I who should be thanking you, Captain. It's been a long while since I've seen Adanna this happy."

"You have a wonderful daughter. Take good care of her until we meet next time."

"I know. And I will. Enjoy your stay in Wakanda."

Steve nodded, "See you around, then. Mister…" Steve laughed, "Sorry, how rude of me, I didn't even ask for your name…"

"Nkululeko."

"Mr. Nkululeko..." Steve paused, "That's a Xhosa name, right?"

"That's correct, Captain."

"What does it mean?"

"Freedom."

* * *

Mr. Nkululeko unfolded the paper and began reading its contents:

To: NATALIA ALIANOVNA ROMANOVA,

HUMANITY'S BRIGHT JEWEL.  
A PARAGON OF FEMININE STRENGTH.  
AN INSPIRER OF YOUNG GIRLS.  
AN ADMIRATION OF MEN.  
A LOYAL PARTNER.  
A LOVING AUNT.  
AN AVENGER.  
AN ANGEL.  
A LIFE SAVER.  
MY BEAUTIFUL HERO.

Know that you are loved, Natasha.

Always.

From: Your partner and friend, S.G.R.

He smiled. And showed the paper to his daughter.

Seconds later, Adanna smiled too. Brightly. _Happily._

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on his daughter's face.

* * *

Rock climbing.

That, was what Steve ended up doing by the time late afternoon came. Safe to say that Steve's lazy afternoon excursion into Central Wakanda took quite a sizable turn. Don't worry. You haven't missed any memos.

He'd gladly fill y'all in on how he got to that point.

It began after Steve left The Outsiders, when the flea market lost its appeal. Thing was, Steve had a flashback. Something about the atmosphere of that bazaar had reminded him of their failed mission in Lagos a few days ago. He remembered every detail of that mission. His battle with Rumlow took place in a setting which bore much resemblance to Central Wakanda's flea market. So Steve had fled the market towards the edge of town, away from the hustle and bustle of town, away from the painful reminder of their failed mission.

That was kinda how Steve ended up somewhere near the vicinity of the Wakandan rainforest. That area, however, was like a ghost town. The exact opposite of the flea market. At first Steve had thought it to be a recreational area of some kind, but there were neither signs of life nor signs of any recreational facilities. There were no benches around, no playgrounds, no nothing. The only thing he could see were tall fences which formed the boundary between the rainforest and that area.

The entire region was dead. Blighted by inactivity and abandonment. It almost felt godforsaken.

You see, Steve would've undoubtedly given up this whole outdoor excursion thing had he not spotted something at the tall fences. It was a little gate with a sign board on top of it:

JUNGLE TREKKING

And all of a sudden, Steve had a completely different idea of how he should spend the remainder of the afternoon, and said idea would involve nature. A _lot,_ of nature. Well, duh, he'd certainly pick Mother Nature over staring at walls anytime. Thrilled with his discovery, Steve had then swiftly returned to his suite and packed a backpack for his impromptu jungle trekking expedition. His backpack contained a bottle of water, a compass (Captain America liked things old school, plus he kinda destroyed his smartphone since smartphones were traceable) and a towel. Oh right, he had even brought his sketchbook and colored pencils along with him, just in case his artistic whims decided to pay him a visit.

And shortly after that, Steve found himself standing amidst the most beautiful tropical rainforest he had ever seen. Not that he had seen a lot of tropical rainforests before. Amid his trekking, Steve felt a sudden, but not totally unwelcomed, surge of nostalgia (trust him, these random flashes happen a lot when you have a super eidetic mind). Back in the war, he sure had his fill of wading through thick forests for hours and sometimes even days on end. Obviously, the circumstances back then were completely different. Jungle trekking in war zones warranted extreme caution on his part as the Howling Commandos' leader. One mistake would either mean leading his team right into an enemy ambush or stepping right onto a landmine; but this? This was peaceful, tranquil and pleasant. As nice as this was though, Steve still kinda missed his war days. The days spent raiding HYDRA bases and kicking HYDRA asses? And not to mention having a bunch of guys whom he saw as family. Be pretty hard not to miss, right? Yeah, and jungle trekking in the woods? He could do that all day. Totally. But no. Jungle trekking didn't last, well, not for long anyway. Because something else in the middle of the rainforest caught his attention.

It was a cliff.

The tallest cliff in the entire rainforest area. A cliff which would give him a 360 degree panorama of Wakanda. Perfect spot for a sketch. He briefly wondered the reason he hadn't notice the cliff when he was admiring the view from the Cryogenics department lobby that morning. Then it hit him. _The mist, of course._ The mist had cleared up by noon, revealing said cliff and most of Wakanda's natural beauties surrounding it.

It really didn't take long for Steve to decide to climb up that cliff. One glance at it, and he was a goner straight.

And…there you have it.

That was how a supposedly simple and effortless excursion turned into a hardcore rock climbing activity. In his defense though, climbing that cliff wouldn't be all that difficult for a Super Soldier, so _technically_ , it _still_ was an effortless excursion, by definition. Pfft, honestly? The climbing part wasn't even remotely a challenge for Steve. He barely broke a sweat. His enhanced strength, agility and his perfect body control enabled him to climb all the way to the top without the use of any climbing gear. The part that was a tad bit tricky, however, was the planning required to find a suitable climbing path; well, unlike his other super friends, Steve couldn't fly, so if he wanted to get on the cliff top, he would need to find a sequence of protruding rocks that he could actually grab onto as he climbed. The planning part took Steve nearly 15 minutes. And the climbing part? Took Steve just under a minute.

Then again, what he saw as he stood on the clifftop was _definitely_ worth all 16 minutes of his efforts.

The view from the cliff was nonpareil. Definitely a sight to behold. It was indeed gorgeous when viewed from the lobby, have no doubt, but seeing the Wakandan vista this up-close and sans the mist? Absolutely no competition. Tall, majestic and evergreen tropical trees pervaded the entire region. Lianas and various species of climbing vines unknown to Steve adorned the trees branches and tree trunks, giving the rainforest a certain lively and 'brightened-up' feel. Flowers of miscellaneous colors blossomed everywhere, and in great abundance; on the trees, on the shrubs beneath the trees and even on some of the vines; rendering the otherwise monochromatic forest infinitely more captivating. The moist tropical air did wonders by glistening almost every surface available in the forest, giving the entire scene a glossy and satiny appearance. For a good minute or two, the mighty Captain America was rendered speechless. He stood at the edge of the clifftop, mouth agape, taking in everything while his eidetic memory ingrained every bit of information into his brain. At that point, Steve was certain that nothing could come remotely close to the level of beauty which the Wakandan rainforest possessed – except maybe the beauty of a certain redheaded spy. Just when Steve thought that the view couldn't possibly get any better, the clouds in the afternoon Wakandan sky aligned themselves in just the right way to create beautiful God's rays. God's rays. Friggin' God's rays. Steve watched the warm rays streamed between the tiny gaps formed by the clouds, making it seem as though the rays radiated from one single point in the sky. Absolutely. Gorgeous.

But wait, Wakanda had more to offer.

The moment Steve closed his eyes to enjoy his rare moment of peace, his auditory senses took over. He was alerted to the sound of water splashing and flowing. Not a very distinct sound, just a hushed and slightly muffled sound (probably due to the thick forests). Anyway, it didn't take long for Steve to locate the source of the sound. It was a beautiful waterfall which led into a small stream somewhere on the left side of the cliff, barely noticeable due to the trees' obscuration. Taken in its entirety, the experience was close to divine perfection.

If only there was somebody he could share it with…

 _God, Nat… you have no idea how much I wish you are here with me right now…_

There it was again. That familiar sense of longing, of yearning, and of _craving_ , which he had felt ever since Natasha walked away from him that day at the cemetery. He remembered everything from that day, right down to the finest details. Every juncture, every sensation, every visual, every sound, and every _smell_ , he had all of them ineradicably implanted in his memory.

 _"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you…"_

Steve remembered hearing her sultry and alluring voice the moment she entered the cemetery grounds, luring him, making his legs move involuntarily towards her in quick strides.

The rest of the memories from that day came flooding back into Steve's mind.

He remembered the brief brush of their hands when she handed him Bucky's file;

The light scrape of her beautifully manicured nails against the back of his palm. The trail of goosebumps her touch had left on his skin;

The feminine floral scent of her cologne as she leaned in towards him;

The gentle caress of her beautiful lips on his right cheek; so soft, warm and arousing;

The elegant 'smooching' sound produced as her lips left the surface of his cheek;

God, he missed her so fucking much.

Still standing on the cliff's edge, Steve's right hand inadvertently travelled to his right cheek, seeking out the exact spot where Natasha's lips had occupied 2 years ago when she had kissed him. The texture of her lips all too vivid and stimulating, instantly rekindling the strong romantic feelings he felt for Natasha; feelings, which he had allegedly 'let go' of.

 _Another chance at love gone…_

 _Gone._

His right hand abandoned his cheek and found its way onto his chest, settling itself right in front of his heart. An unconscious attempt to physically soothe the tightness which had been building up in his chest at an alarming rate from the very moment his mind began recalling Natasha's farewell at the cemetery. The open palm resting on his chest soon transformed into a clenched fist, clutching relentlessly, bunching up his shirt as Steve's breaths turned ragged and heavy. His vision slowly turned blurry. The moment Steve felt a stinging sensation pulsating in both of his eyes, he knew that he was in trouble. Serious trouble. Because he didn't think he could stop his emotions, not this time. The potent and forceful emotions which he had suppressed and kept mostly to himself over the years…

The anguish of falling in love with someone he couldn't possibly have, someone completely out of his league;

The agony of watching from afar the woman of his dreams loving another man;

The pain of watching his chance at love _cruelly_ taken away from him for a second fucking time;

The pain of having known about the decades-worth of horrors Bucky had gone through… all because of his own failure.

He failed Bucky. And because of that, Bucky suffered. Innocent people died.

Howard and Maria perished because he had failed Bucky. The countless of innocent lives Bucky had been forced to take. All those happened because Captain America's serum-infused ass wasn't quick enough to grab onto Bucky's reaching hands on that God-forsaken train carriage.

The time he had lost while he was under.

The people he had lost to fate; his mother, his father;

The people he had lost to time; his Commandos.

Peggy…

The stabbing pain he'd felt when he carried Peggy's coffin towards the altar;

Steve's vision turned into a complete, watery blur. He could no longer see the cliff, the view, the God's rays. Everything was a blur. God, everything hurt. Everything ached right down to his bones.

 _"What made you so SPECIAL?"_ The Red-Skull's words came back to taunt Steve.

Nothing.

There was nothing special about him. He was just some kid who got lucky, some kid who was at the right place and the right time. He was a fucking nobody. A nobody, who would've undoubtedly led a useless and trivial life had it not been for Abraham Erskine's gift to him; the serum, Steve Rogers' dumb _luck._

 _"You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. The only thing SPECIAL about you came out of a BOTTLE…"_ Tony's words rang through his ears, stirring up another wave of emotions in him.

Heck…even _with_ the serum, with all these powers that he was _given for free_ , he was still a failure.

He failed.

He failed in finding love, _twice._

He failed to save his best friend. The same best friend who didn't need no serum to save _him_ thousands of times from bullies.

Heck, he even failed in his mission, HYDRA never did die with the Red Skull.

He couldn't even fulfill the purpose that he was created for.

He never did stop HYDRA.

He failed.

And the whole _world_ suffered at the weight of his failure, because as HYDRA lived, innocent people _died._ _Good_ people died.

Arnim Zola had been right after all.

 _"We won…Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life, a zero sum!"_

 _A zero sum…_

A ragged sob escaped the confines of Steve's lips. That uncontrollable, powerful, and unstoppable first sob.

That was it.

Captain America's breaking point.

Nobody could possibly stand a fucking chance against _decades_ of pent up emotions, not even Steve Rogers. A catharsis was happening whether Steve liked it or not. Heck, he probably needed the release. And he had more than earned his right for it.

The floodgates opened.

One sob led to another, and each sob more intense than its predecessor. Somewhere between the third and fourth sob, Steve's shoulders began shaking violently. Tears followed thereupon, torrents of them, gushing down his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail on his sculpted face. For 5 minutes, his ability to think (or to do anything for that matter) failed him. He was entirely powerless against the raging emotions he had accumulated over the years. Around the seventh sob, it finally dawned on Steve that there really wasn't much point in fighting his emotions anymore, and that this was one battle that he couldn't possibly win. Heck, he barely had the energy to open his eyes. This time, his emotions triumphed over him, completely and utterly vanquished him. So, Steve did the only thing he could do at that moment. He stood at the cliff's edge and just cried, and cried, and cried, and cried… until the tightness in his chest slowly dulled away, until his face became numb from all the contortions it was subjected to, until all his heaves became dry and devoid of air.

Things would have been a lot easier if Steve could just forget. Problem was, Steve had every single one of those events _clearly_ and _accurately_ committed to memory. Those vivid memories fueled and intensified his emotions, making them extremely difficult to ignore. Fucking eidetic memory. There were times where he was _this_ close to volunteering himself for that 'mind-shredder' thingy HYDRA had used to brainwash Bucky. Just so he could forget. Just so he could take a goddamn break from all his pain for _once._

 _Pull yourself together, Rogers. You're stronger than this._ Steve thought to himself as the sobs slowed down. He swiped harshly to remove the remnants of tear streaks on his cheeks. Time to get his shit together and soldier on. This was _so_ not the time to fall into a depressive emotional breakdown, not right then; not when his allies were trapped in prison, all counting on him to rescue them; and certainly not when the love of his life was out there, running for her life because of _him_. People needed him. And Steve Rogers wasn't about to become the guy who let people down. Not again. Not _ever._

 _Get your act together, Rogers._

 _Deep breath in slowly for 4 seconds. Hold the breath for a second. Breathe out slowly for 6 seconds._

A little tip Steve picked up from a SHIELD psychiatrist who had done his psych evaluation before he officially became a SHIELD agent. The sobs ceased. Good, next up, he needed to do something to calm his tumultuous emotions. He had read somewhere on the internet (it was Psychology Today, in fact) about the vast benefits of wishful thinking, and one of them was that it had calming effects. Deciding to give the idea a try, Steve let his imagination roam into fantasy world…

In his mind, Steve envisioned Natasha in a white, knee-length sundress, standing directly under the waterfall – the same one he discovered before his epic sobbing streak commenced. Steve pictured deluges of water streaking down her figure, soaking her dress completely, and thus revealing the smooth and alabaster skin underneath the now-see-through fabric. The drenched fabric cling deliciously to her body, accentuating every bit of her voluptuous curves, not that it made any difference now that the dress was completely see-through. La-la-land-Natasha raised both arms above her head to push her long red hair back while tipping her head upwards, revealing a column of elegant and beautiful neck. Steve imagined her damp and beautiful red tresses tumbling over her shoulders, falling onto the smooth skin between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted, thereby giving her countenance a blissful and relaxed air; a look so unlike her usual I-can-kill-you-in-a-thousand-ways-using-just-a-paperclip comportment. A soft and feminine sigh emanated from her parted lips, an act which disrupted the stream of the water flowing from her top lip to bottom lip, causing a couple of water droplets to stray away from the main stream. All of a sudden, la-la-land-Natasha's eyes were on him; her blissful expression slowly morphed into a sly, seductive and playful smirk. She _sashayed_ towards him, that seductive smirk never leaving her face. As she walked, her lips moved as if she was uttering the same word over and over again. Ah, she was saying his name. Steve eyeballed the movements of her luscious lips in slow motion, trying to memorize the way those lips moved. It was a wonder how an _imagined_ act as simple as saying his name could be such a huge turn on. Then again, this was Natasha he was shamelessly fantasizing about, he highly doubt that there was anything that the woman could do without spurring some sort of sexual fantasy in his mind. He watched her lips slowly pursed at the beginning of the word she was uttering, an indication that the word began with a labial consonant–

 _Whoa, wait a minute. My name doesn't begin with a labial consonant._

And… that was the point when Lala Land came crashing down into reality.

Bruce.

That was the name imaginary-Natasha was uttering, not Steve, but Bruce. _Ouch._

So much for wishful thinking.

 _Note to self. Unsubscribe Psychology Today newsletters._

Releasing a deep, animalistic, growl of frustration, Steve ran both hands through his blonde hair. Damn, he needed a distraction. _Desperately._ But what the heck was he supposed to do in the middle of a freaking rainforest? It wasn't like he could just find another thing to look at, like say, the trees. What, as if starin' at green, leafy trees was gonna help him with his 'situation' here. Speaking of leaves, maybe he could ask Natasha to pose for him without a single stitch while using only those green leaves to cover herself. He bet she'd look so beautiful that way. Then again, Natasha would look beautiful in literally anything because it was her body that made her beautiful, not her clothes. Huh, on second thought, maybe she should just lose those leaves altogether, that way he could see her–

He was losing his goddamn mind.

 _Come on, Rogers. Think. Distraction. Distraction._

 _Why don't you just do a sketch, dummy._ Steve's inner voice taunted.

Sketch. Right. After all, that was his reason for climbing all the way up the cliff in the first place. But he also needed a sketch subject. So he searched, frantically, for something, anything at all, something from the scenery that he could use as his sketch subject. No more redheaded sketch subjects, obviously, if he wished to keep his sanity intact.

 _Nope. No can do, brain. Stay away from sexy and beautiful redheads. AT ALL COSTS. Think of red headed hulks instead…yeah that could work. Or think about a red headed Thor. Yup, that'd probably work too._

5 minutes later, Steve found his 'AHA' moment. The Panther statue. He could totally sketch that. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Right. Because he had been shamelessly fantasizing about a certain someone, and not to mention sobbing uncontrollably like a damsel in distress before engaging in said fantasy. Not one of his finest moments, safe to say _._ He began glancing around the clifftop, looking for a good place to sit and work. Once again, nature didn't disappoint. He found a large boulder near the center of the cliff that sufficed to give him a good view of his sketch subject. So he jumped on top of the boulder, took out his sketching tools from his backpack and started working…

And boy did sketching work wonders for an emotionally distressed man.

The moment his pencil touched the paper, everything else faded away from Steve's mind. The burden of protecting the world, the things and people that he had lost, his immediate surroundings; basically, _everything_ else in reality dwindled. He was completely in the zone; his sole focus right then was not to _live_ in reality, but to _recreate_ reality on his sketchbook right down to the finest details. That was the reason Steve loved sketching so much. Because it brought Steve peace of mind. It took away his pain, worries and all other emotional consequences of life. It made him forget the evil of the world, at least temporarily. When he was that sickly kid overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy, he would sketch himself as a mighty warrior going into war. When he was sick of being an American mascot, he had sketched a cute monkey dancing on a unicycle. When he was in love with a woman, he would sketch a portrait, _two portraits_ in fact, of said woman to show her how beautiful she was. Both portraits were decidedly, in Steve's own artistic judgements, the best artworks he had ever created (because of the sheer amount of emotions that he had poured into the process of creating them). He had gotten those two sketches framed as soon as they were completed and had waited for the right time to give them to Natasha. The right time eventually came during that one time when he knew Natasha was returning from a solo mission in her former neck in the woods. Therefore, before Natasha returned to the compound, he had snuck into her room and placed the 2 sketches on her nightstand along with a bottle of the finest vodka he could find at the time. Steve knew that the mission would be tough on her, so he felt compelled to remind her that she wasn't the monster she so often claimed herself to be; he wanted her to see herself through his eyes, to see how beautiful and _good_ she was in his eyes. And judging from the high spirits that Natasha was in even days after her receipt of his gift, Steve was _pre_ -tty sure that those two sketches did the trick.

Sitting on that ridiculously large boulder, Steve sketched furiously. His right hand pausing only to swap color pencils from the bundle he held on his left hand. Unlike most artists, Steve didn't need to take his eyes off the paper to refer to his sketch subject. Courtesy of his eidetic memory, a quick 1-minute study of his subject sufficed for Steve to memorize all the details he needed for his sketch. Line by line, and curve by curve, the initially blank paper transformed into a lifelike sketch of Wakanda's symbolic Panther. Steve's artistic talents together with his eidetic memory would have given most contemporary artists a run for their money. However, Steve had never considered exploiting his talents for anything other than as a temporary getaway from the burden of being an Avenger. Finding inner peace for himself or helping others find peace through his artwork; those were the 2 reasons Steve did art. Any reasons other than those two would diminish the meaning and value of art in Steve's opinion.

It wasn't until dusk that Steve finally lifted his gaze from his sketchbook. Perhaps it was the constant rumblings and growls of his stomach that finally ended his artistic trance, he wasn't too sure. He gave his work a quick once over and frowned in dissatisfaction. Something was missing. Of course, to a non-artist, it was an exquisite sketch. But artists, Steve included, were always nitpicking on non-existent details that they claimed 'distinguish a good piece of art from complete junk'. Much frowning and glowering ensued until Steve could no longer ignore his hunger. Glancing around the cliff, Steve took in his surroundings and noticed streaks of orange rays permeating the sky.

 _It's gonna get dark soon. Better get a move on._

Meh. He figured he could do a final touch up on the sketch later, if ever. At least he had gotten what he needed from the activity: peace of mind, temporary respite from his emotional turmoil over recent events… and over the unfulfilled physical attraction he felt towards a certain redheaded–

 _Nope. Uh-uh. Dangerous waters there, Rogers. No more redheaded women, remember? Redheaded hulks. Redheaded hulks. Gingerlocks Thor. Gingerlocks Thor._

GRRRRRRR!

Apparently, Steve had more pressing matters at hand right then – the tummy tantrums of a hungry super soldier. With one swift motion, Steve stuffed his things into his backpack and leap down from the boulder he was sitting on. As he stood by the cliff's edge, Steve was confronted by a choice; either to: (A) climb his way down using the same path he came up or (B) jump straight down from the cliff top to the bottom. Neither was an issue for him. Option A would be safer, naturally. But option B would be more time efficient. Ultimately, it was Steve's tummy that helped him make the final call – by growling so loudly that Steve could have sworn the sound resonated through entire central Wakanda. The sooner he could get back into town, the sooner he could actually alleviate his hunger. _Option B it is then._

He leaped.

* * *

Steve winced the moment his feet hit the ground; a sharp pain shot through his entire upper torso.

 _Right, gonna have to take it easy on the ribs until they fully heal._ Steve noted to himself.

He could have taken up T'Challa's offer by utilizing Wakanda's medical facilities to speed up his healing. But honestly? He wasn't really in the mood to deal with lengthy medical procedures or nosy doctors bombarding him with questions about the serum flowing in his veins. Besides, he felt almost at 100 percent other than those broken ribs courtesy of Tony's repulsor beams.

When the pain subsided, Steve started making his way back towards Central Wakanda along the same path he had used for his prior jungle trekking activity. By his estimations, it would take another 15 agonizing minutes or so before he could reach that little gate that brought on the whole journey. So in order to take his mind off his hunger, Steve began working on a plan to infiltrate the Raft. Almost immediately, Steve realized that his mission posed 2 major challenges.

One, information; he would need data, in particular, the blueprints of the entire prison facility in order to work out mission details such as the locations of the best exits, the location where his allies' battle gears were likely kept, security loopholes of the prison facility, ways of getting to his team that draws minimum attention, and etcetera. He thought about asking T'Challa for help on that front, but ultimately decided against the idea because Steve knew T'Challa's true goal – which was to form a good relationship between Wakanda and the rest of the world. Hence, Steve wouldn't risk asking Wakanda's help for a personal mission that could potentially render Wakanda an enemy to the rest of world; which would clearly be against the will of its King. Worse, if the government somehow found out that Wakanda had aided him in his little prison-break mission, what are the odds that the government would also start speculating about _other_ kinds of help that Wakanda had offered to him? (Help such as hiding his brainwashed assassin buddy, for instance.) Odds would be pretty damn high, surely. So, nope, definitely not letting Wakanda anywhere near the mission.

Two, he needed a good way in. Yeah… Steve knew that this was going to be a tough one. Well, in principle, if he could just remotely control the Raft's systems, then this particular challenge would be non-existent. But unfortunately, Steve did not yet possess the skills to execute such advanced cyber-attacks. Hence, it seemed that his only way in would be to actually sneak into an authorized vehicle and infiltrate the facility when the Raft's system recognizes that vehicle; literally knocking on the enemy's front door and barging in. BUT, Steve would then have to know which vehicles were authorized, where each of those vehicles were located, and how he could gain access to such vehicles. Heck, he would even need to know the Raft's detailed daily schedules because surely, the guys in the Raft's control room would only authorize a vehicle if the vehicle was expected to arrive based on some sort of schedule, right? To complicate matters even more, attributes of the vehicles such as serial numbers, manufacturing numbers, their model type; all those information would need to match precisely with those listed in the schedule before they even get authorized for entrance. This ultimately reduced the problem back to the first challenge: INFORMATION. Steve needed those data; access to those schedules, the complete list of all authorized vehicles, everything. Without information, there was really not much that Steve could do.

Steve briefly entertained the idea of launching an assault on the Raft from the outside in order to force the authorities to evacuate the facility. Which could, in theory, provide enough distraction for him to sneak in and rescue his team. But in the end, Steve had deemed the idea as overly risky. Well, because Steve didn't want to risk damaging the Raft because he hadn't yet known how the Raft worked – again due to the lack of intel. Hitting the wrong places and risk drowning everyone inside the facility? Nope, definitely a no go. In fact, Steve suddenly thought of another risk that came with the assault plan. What if the prisoners in the facility actually _escaped_ amid the forced evacuation? Those incarcerated in the Raft were among the world's deadliest criminals, their escape would undoubtedly bring all sorts of mayhem to the world, and that was something that Steve wouldn't chance, not even for the sake of his friends.

At any rate, those were basically the problems that Steve had to solve if he were to successfully infiltrate the Raft. Besides, he would also need a vehicle to transport his allies to a safe-house once he had gotten them out of the facility. And yes, he would also need to find a safe-house; but he already had one in mind – Clint's farm, whose coordinates he still remembered. For the transportation, he figured he could use the same quinjet he had flown to Siberia. Maybe have it hidden somewhere on land. If all else failed and he couldn't solve the aforementioned problems by the end of the week, Steve also had a 'last-resort' plan formulated. Well, that plan was rather, _ahem_ , 'unrefined' and perhaps a tad bit old-school. It would involve Steve stealing a boat and driving it out towards the area within 1 kilometer of the Raft; Steve would then have to camp out on the boat and wait until an authorized vehicle tries to enter the Raft. Then Steve would quickly swim over and sneak in while the vehicle is making its entrance. A bit inefficient and contingent, but it would work; since it's pretty much just a matter of time because surely, there had to be vehicles entering or leaving the facility at some point, right? Though even the 'last-resort' plan could be better executed if Steve could just get his hands on the Raft's damn schedules. In essence, information was what Steve really needed. Nobody could make bricks without clay the same way no tactician could formulate a good battle plan without sufficient data.

The little gate leading into Central Wakanda finally came into sight; a sign of salvation from his growing hunger. Whatever it was that stumped his rescue plans so far, he would find a way. He always did. He had to. But the thinking would have to wait until he had stuffed his stomach with plates of exotic Wakandan cuisine. Wait any longer and he might actually begin hallucinating, or worse, pass out due to hunger.

The hunger of a supersoldier whose metabolism ran at least 4 times faster than the fittest and healthiest of all adult human beings?

Only a fool would trifle with that.

* * *

 **Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa**

The instant Steve came through the bedroom door, he did something that every hungry person would do: food hunting. He remembered having a pack of energy bar stashed somewhere in his battle suit's utility belt. Objectively, he knew that the meagre energy bar wouldn't make much of a difference. But at least something was better than nothing, right?

Well, apparently, the notion of 'something' had gotten a whole lot more prolific when Steve's sight landed on the nightstand in the bedroom. A huge comb of bananas sat atop said nightstand. Strange. He hadn't notice the fruit when he left his room earlier that afternoon. Perhaps his tummy tantrums at the clifftop really was heard by some God-sent Wakandan Samaritan who then snuck in a fine comb of bananas for him, Steve thought amusingly.

Anyway, his inquiries were answered when he strode over to the nightstand. Underneath the fruit was a golden envelope with Wakanda's insignia printed on its bottom right corner. Steve's first impression was that it was an invitation of some kind. Steve slowly opened the envelope to reveal its content: a piece of high quality paper with glittered edges which contained a very brief message.

And an invitation it was. A _royal_ one, in fact.

CAPTAIN ROGERS, JOIN ME AT THE ROYAL PALACE FOR DINNER TONIGHT. 8 PM

T'CHALLA

So the bananas must've been brought here along together with the invitation, Steve inferred as he munched heartily at the fruit. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he noted the time as 6.30 PM. Another one and a half hour to go. Plenty of time for him to shower, change, continue working on his rescue plan and perhaps finish up that comb of bananas that looked too delicious to be left uneaten. But first, Steve had to decide whether he would actually accept the invitation. Not that he was overreacting or anything, but this situation warranted extreme caution. This wasn't some random get-together with his barbershop quartet, it was a friggin' invite to a dining session with the King of Wakanda himself. Come to think of, did he even own anything remotely appropriate to wear to such upscale meetings? Showing up in his full Captain America battle suit would be plain ridiculous after all. Well, he supposed he could wear the same 3-piece suit that he had worn to Peggy's funeral – luckily for Steve, said article of clothing was currently stashed neatly in his duffel bag somewhere. _That's one problem solved._ And what about things like Royal etiquette? The last thing Steve wanted was to commit some sort of faux pas which would potentially lead to him making a _royal_ (pun intended) fool out of himself. Though he supposed he could always stick to his 1940s chivalry… after all, nothing could possibly go wrong with good ol' manners right? _Problem number 2 solved._ Putting aside the reasons not to attend, Steve's mind shifted to the reasons he _should_ make the invitation instead.

One, declining a royal dinner invitation would probably be an act of extreme discourtesy to T'Challa who had been nothing but kind and helpful to him. Two, some company would certainly do Steve some good – the last time he was alone, he ended up nearly losing his mind over a certain redheaded lady. Three, it certainly wouldn't hurt to see the interiors of Wakanda's Royal Palace, once in a lifetime opportunity and all. Four and most importantly, it would be a wonderful opportunity to further strengthen his rapport with Wakanda, after all, Steve and T'Challa did get off the wrong foot when they first met.

After much pondering on Steve's part, his initial fears and doubts slowly subsided and he was finally convinced that the decision was indeed a no-brainer. Et Voila! It was then decided that America's Champion would make an appearance in the abode of Wakanda's Chieftain.


	10. Chapter 10: A New Friend

_"How about a friend?" – Steve Rogers to Natasha Romanoff, Captain America: The Winter Soldier._

* * *

 **Royal Palace of Wakanda, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

For a nation that was (allegedly) concealed from the outside world for centuries, Wakanda sure knew a thing or two about extending hospitalities to outsiders. Having a legion of commissionaires stationed at the royal palace's main entrance to greet visitors, for instance, was _definitely_ one of those things.

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit surprised. The moment Steve passed the royal gates, he saw royal servants flanking each side of the palace's ginormous front patio. Steve had counted 10 heads (five men and five women) on each flank. In each flank, men and women stood alternatingly.

Guess what happened when Steve began traversing the patio?

The commissionaires _bowed_ to him. Bowed. As in, hip-bent-at-right-angles-face-parallel-to-ground bowed. The display was, quite frankly speaking, unnecessary; unless one possessed Loki's delusions of grandeur, which Steve clearly didn't.

Seriously, what's next? Kneeling?

Well, if you're worried, don't. Because the Wakandans actually knew better than to indulge in Loki's whims.

They didn't kneel.

Just bowed.

To say that Steve felt welcomed would be a severe understatement. He felt like a goddamn VIP or something. Interesting. He supposed that the royal servants did not know (and most certainly did _not_ need to know) that they were bowing to the same guy who had, just a day ago, delivered a powerful kick that sent their current King flying off a couple of feet at some German airport.

By the time Steve had traversed enough of the patio to finally stand in front of the commissionaires, he found himself in a deep predicament. What was he supposed to do to get these people to _un_ -bow? Maybe he should divulge his little game of Kick-The-King after all. And do they even speak English? Dang. That copy of _Wakandan Etiquette_ he'd purchased at the airport when he first arrived in Wakanda was so _not_ helpful on that front. Granted, it's probably not an everyday occurrence in Wakanda where one gets invited to the freakin' royal palace, so Steve supposed that there was probably no need for them to include royal etiquettes in that little _Wakandan Etiquette_ booklet. Come to think of, why on earth would they even need a booklet on etiquettes anyway? It wasn't like there was much tourism going on around in Wakanda in like, _ever_.

Maybe he should just quickly walk past the commissionaires. That way, they would probably straighten their backs once they knew he was gone. That definitely sounded like a good plan. Well, it'd certainly make sense, wouldn't it? Surely they wouldn't be enthusiastic enough to remain bowed all the while he was inside the palace dining with the King? If they _did_ , then, well, either they have the strongest backs in human history, or…

Nah. They wouldn't. It wouldn't make any logical sense.

Looking ahead, Steve noted that there was still quite a long stretch of land between where he stood in front of the commissionaires and the palace building's main entrance. Without further ado, Steve followed his plan and strode decidedly past the still-bowed commissionaires towards the main entrance, turning his head over his shoulders once every few steps to check if the servants had straighten their backs yet. But damn, these Wakandans sure were persistent. Not only did they remained bowed, they had actually turned their bodies to face him even after he had walked past them. For the following few minutes, Steve contemplated hard on his next move. He felt bad, really. Having a bunch of people bowing to him was completely unnecessary.

Seriously, this whole display was beginning to make him feel like an asshole instead of making him feel welcomed. Way to go, Wakanda.

Well, he could always just walk back towards the servants and straighten them up himself. Not that he was familiar with the local lingo, but surely they could understand a few simple body language gestures, right? _Or_ , he could just continue walking straight into the building, and hope that the servants would finally be the wiser?

Salvation came by the time Steve reached the palace's porch, when an elderly woman emerged from the royal palace's entranceway. Judging from the difference in her attire and the slight air of authority she exuded, Steve surmised that she was a royal butler of some kind; basically someone in charge of all the royal servants. The woman strode towards Steve with a smile so wide that it'd made him temporarily forget about the commissionaires' potential lower back troubles.

Steve returned the smile and waited at the porch.

Okay! Time to put everything he knew about Wakandan culture into practice.

"Good Evening, Captain Rogers." The woman greeted the moment she stopped in front of Steve.

"Good Evening, Ma'am." Steve returned the greeting. Now, he was supposed to wait until the woman initiate a handshake first, which she did. Steve took her extended hand with his right hand and grabbed her wrist with his left hand – a respectful gesture that was used to greet elderly people in Wakandan culture.

"Ah, Captain. I see you know a little bit about our culture?" The woman said lightly, clearly impressed with Steve's demonstration of knowledge.

Well, then. That copy of _Wakandan Etiquette_ had its uses after all, so it seemed.

"Well, I try. Ma'am. And please, do me a favor and ask these ladies and gentlemen to rise up from their bowing positions. That seemed to be quite an uncomfortable posture to be in, and I feel really, _really_ bad for them." Steve said, gesturing to the commissionaires behind him.

The elderly woman chuckled and barked out a few orders in their native language.

The commissionaires rose to a standing position, and all was right again with the Universe. Finally.

"Well-mannered, kind-hearted and considerate. Now I can see how you have earned the right to a one on one dining session with His Highness. Truly, it is an honor to have you here with us here tonight, Captain."

"It's an honor to be here, Ma'am" Steve answered modestly.

"Now. His Highness awaits you. So, shall we?" The elderly woman gestured towards the entranceway.

Steve tensed up at that. "Please lead the way. I'm not late, am I?"

"Relax, Captain. You are 10 minutes early." The woman smiled before turning towards the entranceway.

Steve followed, but not before turning back towards the commissionaires and giving them a nod of appreciation for their ceremonious (though unnecessary) welcoming.

He would've cracked a joke about each and everyone of them needing a back rub or something. If only he knew enough Xhosa to form a sentence worth a damn.

Too bad.

* * *

Once within the palace building, the elderly woman led Steve through a series of stairs and hallways, slowing down occasionally to introduce Steve to different sections of the palace. Despite her obvious _seniority_ , Steve noticed that the woman walked _pretty_ darn fast. Heck, she even managed to hold a steady conversation with him as they brisk-walked up a steep flight of stairs. Seriously, for someone so… _advance_ in years, the woman sure possessed phenomenal amounts of stamina and energy.

Steve couldn't contain his smile at his previous thoughts. It amused Steve a little, seeing how _he_ was now the one conjuring up age-related comments about his 'peers' (by strict technicality, Steve's peers would be the elderly. Just sayin'). I mean, it was usually _him_ being at the receiving end of any jibes featuring geriatric statuses. And now, oh, how the tables had turned. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what Natasha would say if she was beside him right now. Hell, who was he even kidding? He didn't even need to wonder. He could totally envision the words coming straight out of Natasha's mouth if he were to make some kind of surprised remark about the elderly woman currently walking beside him. For instance, if he were to suddenly say, _'Hey, Nat. How could this elderly woman be so energetic? Think she's taking drugs?"_

In which case, he'd better be ready to have his ass totally and utterly sassed, because he could be damn sure that Little Miss Sassy's reply would probably go something like this:

 _"Can't say I'm surprised, Rogers. You know what they say about fossils, they're an energy source."_

And then she'd probably throw him that sexy smirk of hers; the smirk that he'd gladly kiss right off her mouth if she'd let him. Good God.

He was so totally, madly, and ardently in love with Natasha Romanoff.

They passed by a few servants, and once again, Steve found himself to be in the same conundrum as before – trying to get these zealous servants to un-bow. If the elderly woman was amused by Steve's over-display of chivalry, she didn't show it.

Finally, they stopped when they reached one particular passageway at the East Wing of the palace. The elderly woman procured a tablet device of some kind and began tapping on its screen, giving Steve the opportunity to study the passageway. It was wide, and tall, with only one door at the end. Said door was fairly large, and seemed to be constructed using dark mahogany wood. The entire passageway was, surprisingly, spartan. There were no portraits, or artworks, or decorative ornaments adorning its walls. The only 'decorative' items were the two surveillance cameras hanging above the mahogany door.

"I have just alerted His Highness of your arrival. You can get to the royal dining chamber through that door at the end."

Steve turned his attention back to his temporary chaperone.

"Understood. Thank you for the tour, Ma'am. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Do have a pleasant evening, Captain. And once again, it's an honor." The woman said, giving Steve a slight (thank God!) bow.

The woman left.

* * *

What lay on the other side of the mahogany door wasn't actually the dining chamber. Instead, it was a large waiting area. A metal sliding door occupied the other end of the waiting area, directly opposite where Steve stood. Five female guards were stationed in front of said metal door; two on each side of the door, one stood directly in front of it thereby blocking the doorway completely with her body.

All 5 women were battle-armed with vibranium spears on their right hands. There were vibranium sheath swords attached to their backs too. As for their attire, they all wore chest plates which covered only their breasts and backs; well, vibranium sports bras, essentially.

Steve's mind flashed back to all the times he'd seen Natasha wearing those black sports bra of hers, usually during those times when they shared a gym back at the compound. You see, those goddamn sports bras were the reasons why he sometimes got whacked in the face by a swinging 900-pound punching bag which he had somehow 'forgotten' to steady. Pfft, served him right for openly ogling at the sweat-glistened body of a certain redhead; a body _clearly_ made for all kinds of sin. In his defense, those things looked _skimpy_ on Natasha, okay? Not that he was deliberately looking or anything. Nope, totally wasn't deliberate. He didn't have a choice. It was a forced act, a coercion. Yeah, _clearly,_ he had been dragooned into ogling, by Natasha's sports attire (or lack thereof). Gentleman or not, he was still a man, and a man could only defend himself _so much_ from sexy redheads wearing skimpy sports bras. And oh, not to mention all the times when he had to abort his workout halfway and leave the gym before he ruined his reputation completely. The reason for that? Well, let's just say, that a supersoldier's hard-on isn't one to be trifled with. Thank heavens for the elastic workout pants he always wore to the gym, else he honestly couldn't be sure which would rip first: the front of his pants, or his skin. Neither would lead to any favorable outcomes, in case you're wondering.

Ahem, safe to say that those workout sessions, didn't quite, well, _work out_.

 _Anyway_ , back to the guards, who were now eyeing him with slightly menacing looks. Steve also noticed that the guards wore vibranium chausses, which covered their legs until mid-thigh. Overall, the guards gave off a somewhat intimidating vibe…sort of? Okay, well, maybe they _could_ be intimidating for a normal person, one who has yet to face down an army of aliens flying out of a freaking hole in the sky. But considering all the weird things he had seen ever since he took the serum, this little marking-of-territory display by the guards didn't even come close to getting under his skin.

Unfazed, Steve advanced towards the other end of the waiting room, towards the metal doors. He did all that without batting an eye. He hadn't been wrong in assuming that the guard who stood blocking the doorway at the center was the leader of the pack, because as soon as he neared the door, the center guard had taken a step forward, seemingly to size him up. Deep down, Steve found their display of 'machismo' amusing. However, Steve schooled his expressions nonetheless, careful in not letting his amusement show on his face. They were his hosts after all, the least he could do was to show some respect to the nation who had graciously offered shelter and protection for Bucky.

 _Nice try, soldiers. Your size-ups might work on most, but this soldier had seen more stuff than you probably ever will in your entire lifetime._

Despite being thoroughly sized-up, Steve decided to play the respect-the-soldiers card, "Good Evening, fellow warriors. The name's Steve Rogers. I'm here upon the invitation of your King, His Highness T'Challa." Steve took out the golden envelope containing the T'Challa's dinner invitation from his blazer pocket and handed it to the guard.

The guard took the envelope without opening it and placed it in her waist pouch. "We know who you are, Captain. It's an honor to finally meet the Living Legend himself. But unfortunately, protocols must be followed. We cannot make any exceptions, not even for you." said the guard who had been sizing him up moments ago.

The guard had even thrown in a little smile at the end of her sentence. Huh.

How. About. That.

Well, at least she didn't pull a punch on him. Maybe these badass women had finally taken a liking to him. He supposed he could credit that to his Omni-functional 1940s chivalry. It so appeared that not even these tough as nails female warriors were immune to good ol' fashioned chivalry.

"Protocols. Right. You do what's necessary, Ma'am. I'll gladly oblige."

"We need you to empty your pockets, Captain. And also to remove your shoes and your suit jacket." The guard ordered sternly.

Steve complied immediately and did what he was told without uttering another word. At least he wasn't asked to remove the vest he'd worn under his jacket. He removed his black blazer first and took out a second envelope from the inner pocket of the blazer. He then passed both items to the guard before working on removing his dress shoes.

"What's in this?" asked the guard as she held up the second envelope which Steve had procured seconds ago.

"A gift for the King. You are welcomed to check its contents, Ma'am." Steve answered briskly. He now stood barefoot (he still had his socks, of course) in front of 5 domineering women, awaiting the next bullet point on Wakanda's dining-with-the-King protocol. Jeez, talk about emasculation.

The guard opened the envelope to reveal the sketch of the Panther's statue he had done that afternoon at the cliff top.

Apparently, Steve was forced to make final touch-ups on his 'flawed' sketch after all when he had failed to come up with any reasonable ideas to present to his host as a gift. Besides, he hadn't the mood to return to the flea market to browse for gifts, and the sketch happened to be the only thing gift-worthy lying around in the suite. Pfft, like as if he was gonna show up empty-handed to an invitation; his Ma taught him better than that.

Satisfied with her examinations, the guard returned the gift to Steve. With a curt nod of her head, 2 of the other guards stepped forward from each side of the door and procured weapons scanners from their backs.

"Now we need to you widen your stance, and lift your arms slightly." The center guard ordered, her tone, however, was not as stern as before; probably coming to the realization that this whole charade was pointless after all, and that Captain America's presence that night meant no harm to their new King. About damn time she got the memo.

Obediently, Steve did as he was told and the scanning commenced, which lasted for about 10 seconds.

"Alright, Captain. You're cleared for entrance. His Highness awaits you behind this door." said the guard who stood at the center as soon as the scanning stopped.

Steve retrieved his suit jacket from the guard after he put his dress shoes back on.

The guard stepped away from the doorway before pressing a combination of buttons on her electronic gauntlet. The metal doors slid open a second later.

* * *

Steve found himself walking into a huge dining chamber. The chamber was perfectly cylindrical with a large and expensive looking chandelier hanging from the center of the circular ceiling. Directly under the chandelier was a freakishly long dining table.

 _That's gotta be a 40-seater at least._ Definitely not meant for a one on one dining session. For a split second, Steve panicked and thought that perhaps the night would be joined by all Wakandan high ministers or something, but had quickly dismissed that idea when he remembered the elderly women at the main entrance, who told him that the agenda for the night was indeed a private dinner with T'Challa.

"Captain Rogers."

Steve turned to his 2 o'clock and saw T'Challa descending a winding staircase.

Steve strode towards to the bottom of the staircase to meet his host.

"Good evening, Your Highness." Steve greeted. Steve took T'Challa's extended right hand with his own right hand, and at the same time grasped T'Challa's right wrist with his left – a gesture of respect he had picked up.

T'Challa returned the gesture, much to Steve's surprise.

After the handshake, Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his gift, "Your Highness, here's a little token of appreciation for the invite, and also for your kind hospitality."

T'Challa took the gift gratefully, "Thank you, Captain. The pleasure is mine."

"Shall we?" T'Challa gestured towards the staircase. Steve nodded and followed his host up the fancy staircase onto the second floor.

The second floor was obviously meant for private dining. Instead of concrete cylindrical walls, it was enclosed by cylindrical floor-to-ceiling glass windows which made the entire floor a perfect vantage point into the breathtaking night-view of Central Wakanda. Despite the whole floor being a circular disk, the actual dining booth however, only occupied a 60-degree sector of the circular floor, a particular feature which struck Steve as extraordinary and bizarre, but he had made no comments about it for propriety's sake. Steve ambled towards the dining booth before stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows within the booth.

Steve stared at the night view.

It was beautiful. The twinkling blips of city lights, little dots which lit up the darkness, like stars on land.

"Great view out here." Steve said.

"Glad you enjoy the view, Captain. Because it's about to get better." T'Challa replied.

Slightly confused by T'Challa's statement, Steve turned around just in time to see T'Challa pull out a control panel from the center of the circular room. Steve watched curiously as T'Challa pressed a combination of buttons on the control panel. The event which followed made everything click in Steve's mind. Because the entire second floor started rotating about the cylindrical chamber's central axis.

With an expression of awe, Steve remarked, "This whole floor is a rotating disk, that's why the dining booth only occupied a sector of the circle, well, it wouldn't matter since it's spinning around anyway. And I suppose that also explains the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and the cylindrical design of the building…" Steve paused and gave the chamber a quick once over, "This was meant to be a rotating restaurant. Very impressive."

"Wait for it, Captain. The best part has yet to come…" T'Challa said as he began walking away from the control panel towards the dining booth, where Steve stood.

Steve's eyebrows shot up, "There's more?"

Seconds later, a loud click was heard. The sound originated from the space above the ceiling. And immediately after, Steve noticed the gradual dimming of the ceiling lights. Eventually, as the lights slowly dimmed into oblivion, the dining chamber descended into a state of darkness. The meagre city lights from Central Wakanda became the only source of light in the dark room. Steve senses went into high alert instantly. Thanks to the serum, he had no problems seeing even under severe light-deficient circumstances. Slightly restless, he glanced quickly around him, eagerly 'observing' his surroundings. Okay, fine, whatever, he was paranoid, okay? His 'observations' were, in actuality, some form of threat assessment, just in case. Avenger or not, he was still a soldier at heart, and a soldier never let his guard down. That night, however, he was in luck, for he had spotted no suspicious or hostile presence in the chamber – just him and his host. There were no traces of guns, knives, or spears either. The room was near silent with the only audible sound being the steady and rhythmic breathing of his host.

The clicking from above the ceiling ensued after a long moment of deafening silence. The dining booth soon became pitch-black dark and Stygian as the booth rotated away from the Wakandan city lights to face the rainforests.

Seriously getting a little creepy.

"I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. But given the past few days that I've had? Pardon me when I say that I'm not a big fan of dark confined rooms with clicking ceilings." Steve stated warily, his senses still on overdrive.

T'Challa chuckled, "Patience… Captain. And relax, Wakanda is Fort Knox. I highly doubt that your enemies could even cross the outer borders of Wakanda."

A deep humming sound soon followed. Guess where the sound came from? Yep, it came from above the ceiling, again. Some ceiling that was. It was obvious that there was something going on above them, and the constant humming sound had Steve thinking along the lines of old machineries operating beyond the ceiling. Unable to contain his bubbling curiosity, Steve tilted his head skywards and squinted through the darkness, determined to discern anything unusual transpiring above them.

And then Steve saw it.

The circular ceiling was slowly retracting radially outwards towards its circumference!

Beyond the ceiling, however, was something infinitely more captivating. It was a hemispherical, transparent glass dome pointed directly at the clear Wakandan night sky. So in essence, the whole dining chamber was a cylinder with a transparent hemisphere attached at one end. Wow.

Seriously, the modern world never ceased to amaze him. Those damn helicarriers had costed him ten bucks already.

 _Guess I owe Fury another ten._ Steve thought wryly.

"Behold, the finest stargazing spot in Wakanda." T'Challa announced proudly.

And damn right it was.

The Wakandan night sky was clear, with glittering specks of whites and blues spread across it. As if somebody had thrown a handful of powdery diamond dust across the night sky. Millions of miles away, the stars winked down upon its observers, like gleaming beacons of hope for the troubled and the despair.

"Son of a gun…" Steve shook his head in amazement, finding himself unable to tear his gaze away from the lure of billions of blinking stars. He was, at that moment, _star_ -struck, _literally_.

"This is all very nice, Your Highness. You know, I came out of the ice believing that nothing in this world could ever surprise me again. Time and again, I was proven wrong. Seems like you've just added another item onto that list." Steve said in awe, his head remained tilted skyward.

"My father… He had this built a very long time ago, as you have undoubtedly noticed from the old and slow-performing machinery. When I was younger, our family used to come up here and dine every weekend. And then we would stargaze after dinner until I fall asleep. I have fond memories of this place…" T'Challa said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

The sudden change in ambience of the room was what ultimately made Steve tear his gaze away from the glass dome. Steve watched as T'Challa strolled towards the floor-to-ceiling windows with a heavily guarded expression.

"I'm very sorry about your father, Your Highness." Steve consoled, though he knew that the scanty condolence wouldn't make much of a difference. Steve felt like he should say more, but had opted to give T'Challa some space instead.

The young King of Wakanda stared quietly out of the windows into the bustling night life of Central Wakanda, seemingly lost in thought, perhaps reliving the memories of his late father.

It really wasn't all that hard for Steve to empathize with T'Challa. Steve understood the pain of losing loved ones very well, _too well_ to his liking. By the age of 18, Steve had lost both of his parents. His father, Joseph Rogers, was killed in action during the First World War. Throughout his adolescent years, Steve had to watch his mother struggle through her ordeal to keep the both of them alive. So much suffering his mother had endured before, she, too, succumbed to tuberculosis on his 18th birthday.

His mother…

If there was one person whom Steve had thought created the man he was today, it would be his mother, Sarah Rogers. The woman who never once gave up on him. The beautiful woman who had taught him about perseverance. The woman who had taught him that the greatest strength that one could ever possess was the _strength within one's heart._

A pear shaped tear slipped down Steve's left cheek as he remembered his mother's last words to him on her deathbed,

 _"A strong heart will take you further than any physical strength. A strong heart means you'll never quit..."_

Steve's reminiscence ended abruptly when he heard T'Challa taking a deep, ragged breath. T'Challa's back was turned towards Steve, still staring out into the night through the windows. Following T'Challa's line of sight, Steve noticed the pitch darkness through the curved windows of the booth. At that observation, Steve surmised that the booth still overlooked the vast Wakandan rainforest. Sensing the emotional distress of his host, Steve decided to do something to diffuse the palpable sadness saturating the space.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Steve took one step closer towards his host. There were still quite a few steps separating the two men.

When T'Challa remained silent and still, Steve continued, "I know how you feel, Your Highness. I lost a lot of people too, and the losses were painful, especially when loved ones were involved. I've never met my father… so I don't really feel anything about his death. He died fighting the First World War before I was even born, mustard gas attack. But my mother…" Steve paused, took a deep breath and cleared his throat before continuing.

"My mother and Bucky, they were the only two loved ones I had back when I was still that sickly nobody from Brooklyn. They were _everything_ that I had back then. They meant _everything_ to me. And…I had experienced losing them both before, so I can totally understand what you must be going through right now. My mother died on my 18th birthday, tuberculosis. And… well, you know the story about Bucky, it was because I failed him…" Steve shook his head and cleared his throat a second time, "But on both accounts, I survived. It was painful, especially at the start, but I lived. So, I know that you _will_ survive the loss of your father too. And trust me, I get it, I know you'd want to grieve on your own, all alone by yourself. But see, the thing is, _you don't have to_. You have friends, family, and a whole bunch of people who care a very great deal about you." Steve chuckled drily, "I tried to grieve alone too, when my mother died. Bucky was the one who made me realize that I really didn't have to."

Another pause from Steve.

That second pause made T'Challa turn from the window to face Steve. Seeing that he had finally gotten T'Challa's full attention, Steve stepped forward and stopped beside T'Challa. Steve's right hand settled on T'Challa's left shoulder in a firm and powerful grip.

"From the moment you offered to shelter and look after Bucky, you have found yourself a friend in me. So, you're not alone, Your Highness. Whatever you need, just say the word and I'll be there." Steve stated firmly.

T'Challa nodded, "Thank you, Captain. You've been very kind."

Steve smiled widely.

"You're welcome. Now, we don't have to do this if you're not up for it. You have every right to grieve for your father however you want it, Your Highness. And if you wish to be alone tonight, I'd respect that." Steve paused, his eyes gleaming with humor despite the darkness surrounding the room, "Plus, you were _remarkably_ generous in your afternoon fruit delivery. I've still got half of that massive comb of bananas left unfinished back at the suite. Do you guys do fruit bonanzas here? Oh, listen to this, Wakanda banana bonanza… it's got quite a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Maybe you guys could make a festival of it." Steve's attempt at humor drew a deep chuckle from his host.

"Don't worry, Captain. I'm good. I appreciate your concerns though. And what kind of a host would I be if I send my honored guest back on an empty stomach? So rest assured, you will help yourself to the crème de la crème of Wakandan Cuisine tonight."

As if on cue, Steve's stomach rumbled.

"And… _that_ , would be my stomach showing it's appreciation for your wise decision, Your Highness." Steve said, removing his grip from T'Challa's shoulder.

T'Challa laughed heartily at Steve's joke. And Steve, for one, was glad that the melancholy in the room was diffused. After the 'Civil War' fiasco, Steve was pretty sure that everybody needed a break from all the angst.

The laughter died down after a minute, and the mood turned serious once again.

"My father… he was a great man, a champion of peace. But the world had done him great injustice. And I, for one, would not stand by and let injustice continue to rule this world. I vow to fight in the name of peace and justice. It is the only way to honor his legacy, and not let his death be in vain." T'Challa said with fiery determination.

And then Steve said something which proved himself worthy as a friend of the King of Wakanda, " _You are_ his legacy, Your Highness. He raised you to be a fearless warrior, and, not to mention one hell of a great ruler too. By my book, his death was _never_ in vain, because he made who you are today. You are his greatest legacy, Your Highness. And I'm sure that wherever he is, he would be very proud. To truly preserve his legacy, all you need to do is to keep being the great person you are today, keep being the person he'd made you to be. That's how I think you should honor your father, Your Highness."

T'Challa was momentarily stunned into silence as he pondered Steve's words, and then he smiled in recognition, suddenly remembering what Captain America's greatest strength was:

The ability to inspire people, even people who are Kings, apparently.

Captain America, the inspirer of inspirers.

"You know, among all the hundreds of potential candidates for Erskine's Project Rebirth… I'm glad that they chose you, Captain. The world, aside from being extremely lucky to have you, is also too dumb to even realize its own luck." T'Challa remarked.

It was Steve who laughed this time.

"You're overpraising me, Your Highness. If you don't already know, I was just some kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight he knew he couldn't win. Believe me, _that,_ was the reason Erskine chose me. It never was that complicated. In fact I kinda think that I was just at the right place and the right time. Most would call it dumb luck." Steve answered modestly.

T'Challa scoffed at Steve's modesty, but nodded nonetheless, figuring that the modesty probably came together with Captain America's 'goodness package'.

"Well, then, I think we can all agree that Erskine was an extremely wise man." T'Challa commented.

Steve smiled at the comment.

"Thing is, every morning I wake up, I make it my personal mission to prove exactly that, to prove that Erskine made the right choice in me, and to keep the promise that I had made to him back in 1945…" Steve said wistfully.

T'Challa nodded in understanding, "And it's safe to say that you've done a great job in that endeavor thus far. Come, my friend. Have a seat and I will have dinner served in no time. Oh and do us both a favor, drop the honorifics, Steve. I would like to have a normal conversation between two friends for once." T'Challa said while gesturing for Steve to take a seat, which the latter gladly obliged.

* * *

"I hope you managed to get up here without any hassle." T'Challa stated once they were both seated in the booth.

"Oh no, it's no hassle at all…" Steve chuckled, "But you really outdid yourself with the commissionaires, by the way. It's been a long while since I felt like a celebrity. Thought my celebrity days were long behind me after my USO tours." Steve said, shuddering at the thought of his horrendous days as a dancing monkey.

T'Challa chuckled and said, "I've actually seen those footages when I was younger, knocking Hitler off his feet and all that. I remember there was the one where you lifted a motorcycle with 3 show girls standing on it. That one was actually pretty funny. And no offense, Steve, the costume you wore back then? It was ridiculous."

Steve groaned, covering his face with his palm, " _Definitely_ weren't my finest moments."

"The commissionaires were actually the royal servants. And just so you know, they had actually _volunteered_ themselves to be the commissionaires for tonight. Believe it or not, _everybody_ in Wakanda wants to meet in person the hero who had saved the world 70 years ago." T'Challa said as he tapped away on his phone, presumably giving the kitchen staff the cue to start serving dinner.

"Didn't know that my 'influences' crossed Wakanda's sacred borders." Steve said wittily.

T'Challa lifted his gaze from the phone and smirked.

"Believe me when I say this, Steve. The people of Wakanda know _everything_ about the outside world. It is the outside world, however, who knew very little about us." T'Challa answered confidently, which earned him a smile from the supersoldier.

"Touché. Any chance that that's gonna change in… say… this lifetime?" Steve teased.

"It actually might. Well, depending on the world's current interests, obviously. I mean, you wouldn't want a giant vibranium rock the size of a football field to fall into the wrong hands, would you? Who knows? If we manage to accomplish things like…" T'Challa shrugged, trying to think of an example before continuing, "…wiping HYDRA off the face of the earth for instance? Only then I'll actually consider revolutionizing Wakanda's foreign policies to be more… _liberal_."

Steve tensed immediately at the mention of HYDRA, "Wipe out HYDRA huh? That's not gonna be easy…" Steve chuckled bitterly "…sometimes I wondered if that's even possible. Back in 1945, when I was crashing the jet… I thought I had finished the job, with the Red Skull gone and all… But I woke up 70 years later only to discover that I'm still fighting the same battle." Steve took a deep breath before continuing, "The sole reason I was created was to take down HYDRA. Guess I wasn't enough."

"For what it's worth, Captain, the fight against HYDRA isn't over. The world still needs you. So, you might want to save any judgements about your adequacy until the fight is actually over." T'Challa said encouragingly.

Steve smiled wryly, "Guess I lived to fight another day, huh? _Literally_ "

T'Challa, wanting to keep the mood light, opted for a change of subject.

"Anyway, when I mentioned 'hassle' earlier, Captain, I was actually referring to something more along the lines of my personal bodyguards. Ever since my father's passing, they have been increasingly protective. I certainly hope that they hadn't offended you in any way tonight. " T'Challa said, giving Steve a pointed look.

"The women in the waiting room, you mean?" Steve asked.

"Yes. The Dora Milaje. A group consisted of the most elite female warriors in the nation. For generations, they have acted as the King's personal bodyguards." T'Challa confirmed.

"Don't worry about it. I completely understand the duties of a soldier. I was once a soldier too, you know. I can see that they are very dedicated. And for that reason, rest assured that they have my highest regards." Steve dismissed T'Challa's concerns.

"Good." T'Challa paused before he slowly shifted his gaze towards Steve, "Interestingly though, before we met your team at the airport, Miss Romanoff had a confrontation with the leader of the Dora Milaje." T'Challa's tone was… _odd_. Inscrutable. There was a slight timbre in his voice, which, subtle as it was, remained discernible by Steve's superior auditory senses. There was also _something_ in the way T'Challa spoke whose nature Steve couldn't quite decipher. Was it some kind of test? What was it? Steve couldn't tell from the content of the statement, because the statement, per se, was vague, and Steve was starting to feel that the vagueness was by design.

Feeling suspicious, Steve stared across the table at his host. And for a brief moment, Steve noticed something in T'Challa's facial expression as well. It was as though T'Challa was studying, no, _scrutinizing_ him, watching how he would react to what was formerly said. All the more reason for Steve to suspect the fact that T'Challa had brought up the subject of Natasha on purpose. Steve's mind immediately thought of the worst.

 _Strange. Did something happened between Natasha and the guards that I should be concerned about?_

"What happened? I thought Natasha was on your side before this." Steve asked warily, trying to get to the bottom of this unusual turn in their conversation. He was careful and had made an effort to keep his voice composed and apathetic.

"She stood in front of my car, trying to recruit me to join Stark. Well, like I said, the Dora Milaje members were increasingly protective after what happened to my father… so…" T'Challa threw yet another vague response but this time he added a nonchalant shrug. Yep, definitely by design. T'Challa's gaze was laser focused on Steve, apparently he was still studying Steve, and gauging Steve's every reaction to his own words.

"So there was a fight?" Steve cut to the chase. Not that he was particularly worried or anything. He knew that Natasha could hold her own in a lot of dangerous combat situations… but still… he was just…curious? That's right, curious, piqued, but not worried.

 _But she seemed fine to me when I saw her at the airport. Maybe she won the fight?_

Nope. Definitely wasn't worried. Just… looking out for a teammate. _She would have done the same for me._

T'Challa said, "No. No fight. I was there. I ordered my guard to stand down."

Steve's shoulder sagged slightly in relief.

"But a fight, if it occurred, would be extremely entertaining wouldn't you say?" T'Challa leaned back in his seat.

Okay, now _that_ definitely got Steve intrigued. Well, of course, Steve wasn't one of those guys who would view a fight as 'entertaining' (no offense, T'Challa), but still, this was Natasha they were talking about… and whenever it comes to her, Steve _needed_ to know. Again, not being overly concerned or anything, this was just curiosity.

"So… who's your money on?" Steve asked just as a female royal servant walked into their booth carrying a round tray containing two rock glasses and a bottle of what Steve assumed to be whiskey. Steve thanked the woman when a whiskey-filled glass was placed in front of him. Steve quickly recognized the woman as being one of the commissionaires who had greeted him at the palace's main entrance.

"Let me introduce you to Wakanda's finest brand of whiskey. And to answer your question, I would say that it depends on the circumstances of the fight." T'Challa said before he took a sip from his glass.

"Well, then. By all means, do enlighten me." Steve said before taking a sip of his own drink.

"If it was purely a hand-to-hand fight without any special armors involved, I'd give Miss Romanoff the edge." T'Challa said, setting his glass back onto the table.

Steve nodded in agreement, "Natasha is an _extremely_ lethal hand-to-hand combatant. She could go toe to toe with a physically enhanced Bucky _and_ hold her own using just her skills alone. But I can totally see where you are going with this. The Dora Milaje, they wear vibranium armors don't they? And I suspect that their spears and swords are all vibranium as well."

"That is correct. They were trained to incorporate vibranium's material advantages into their fighting styles. Hence, when fully armored, these warriors are deadly. On a good day, the best of these warriors could even fight me to a standstill. But all in all, I think that with her abilities, Miss Romanoff would survive a fight with a fully armored member of the Dora Milaje. But to overpower them when fully armored… that's quite difficult, even for someone as skilled as Miss Romanoff." T'Challa stated his opinion.

"Then I guess it's a good thing that I came here today as an ally. Would hate to add a few more broken bones onto my 'to-heal' list." Steve said jokingly, causing T'Challa's face to crinkle up in amusement.

Jokes aside, Steve was still unable to decipher T'Challa's unusual demeanor when the subject of Natasha was brought up in their conversation. Even queerer was the way in which Natasha was suddenly brought into the conversation, literally out of nowhere. Well, okay, Steve had suspected from the start that T'Challa had brought up Natasha on purpose, but for what reason? Still puzzled by the peculiarity of his host's actions, Steve leaned forward in his seat and pondered his next move.

 _It's not a breach of Royal Etiquette if I just simply ask a question right? I need to be careful here, Bucky is still under Wakanda's protection… If I say the wrong things and upset His Highness somehow…_

You know what? To _hell_ with it.

Steve wanted answers. If something had happened to Natasha, he had the right to know dammit. Damn straight, as the Former Leader of the Avengers, he had every right to access any information that concerned the well-being of one of his former comrades, in a purely platonic and I'm-just-looking-out-for-my-work-partner sense, of course.

Time to kick his 1940s chivalry up a notch. _So here goes…_

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but it's rather… _strange_ , that you would suddenly bring up Romanoff in our conversation earlier. This 'confrontation' between Romanoff and your body guard…Is there…" Steve tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, "…something about it that I should know?"

That successfully earned him a deep and throaty chuckle from T'Challa.

Steve, looking slightly affronted, was just about to mouth off this 50-page speech about the welfare and safety of every member of the Avengers being his responsibility as the team's _former_ leader, but then T'Challa waved a hand across the table and dismissed Steve's concerns, "Relax, Steve. Nothing happened to Miss Romanoff, really. I give you my word, warrior to warrior. But as for the reason I brought that up? Let's just say, that I needed a little confirmation about something, and leave it at that, shall we?" T'Challa threw yet another vague response at Steve.

Steve narrowed his eyes and eyed suspiciously at T'Challa's amused expression, "Confirmation? About what?"

But right at that exact moment, a royal servant _just so happened_ to walk into the booth carrying a large tray containing the appetizer for the night: two plates of shrimps and two small bowls containing some kind of brownish-colored sauce.

"Let me introduce you to tonight's appetizer. Roasted shrimp with peanut sauce. One of Wakanda's finest." T'Challa announced as a way to officially kick start the agenda of the night. And obviously, as a not-so-subtle way of avoiding Steve's previous question.

* * *

"The food is to your liking, I hope?" T'Challa stated as Steve reached for a napkin.

They had just completed the final course of the night, which happened to be one of Wakanda's popular dessert dishes, Maandazi – T'Challa had explained to Steve that it was a special type of doughnut prepared by adding coconut milk into the dough.

"Oh, it sure was. Most definitely. Granted, it was very… _different,_ compared to what I usually eat back in my day, but delicious nonetheless." Steve answered with an appreciative nod, placing the napkin back onto his lap.

And Steve wasn't lying. Within one short hour, Steve had tasted what he would consider to be the tastiest food he had ever eaten in his whole life. After the appetizer, they were presented with 7 more exquisite Wakandan dishes, including dessert. All dishes had been prepared by the top chefs in Central Wakanda. Some light dinner conversations were made, of course. Well, mostly it was Steve having a crash course in Wakanda's history and culture. All in all, Steve had a great evening; hardly a surprise given the amazing food, the exquisite night view, the good company and all that.

"Good to know, then. Because food preferences are highly subjective." T'Challa remarked as a staff came in to clear away the dessert plates.

"Well, I'm sure that my stomach would once again love to show its appreciation for all the Wakandan delights you have showered it with, only… it's probably too stuffed to do anything at the moment. Think it needs a little break." said Steve with a glint of humor in his eyes.

"Break? I'd hate to disappoint your stomach, Captain. But dinner isn't quite over yet." T'Challa quipped back, waving to the only remaining item left on the dining table. The bottle of Whiskey sat atop the table, half-empty.

Steve grinned, "I'm sure it wouldn't mind a couple more glasses of fantastic Whiskey." Steve took the Whiskey bottle and filled up both of their glasses.

"I noticed that you'd placed quite an emphasis on the word, 'different', when you commented on the food just now. Why's that?" T'Challa asked as Steve set the Whiskey bottle back down onto the table.

"Oh, that. I meant modern food in general, I guess. A lot has changed since my day. And one of the biggest changes I had noticed was the food. The food now's a hell lot better than what we used to have back in my day…" Steve clarified.

T'Challa reached for his glass, "Oh? How _was_ the food different back in your day?"

"Everything was just…simpler. We used to boil everything." Steve snorted, "Wasn't like we had much of a choice back in those days anyway. Sometimes, we couldn't even afford basic cooking commodities, like cooking oil, pepper, salt… _sugar._ The Great Depression took a lot of things away from the people, and the luxury of enjoying good food was definitely one of 'em." Steve rolled his eyes, "People nowadays are complaining and nitpicking about the types of seasoning to be used on food, but back in my day? People would see _'small'_ things such as having fresh meat or fresh vegetables for a meal for instance, as a revel-worthy occasion. Can you imagine that?" Steve took a sip of his Whiskey.

T'Challa nodded in understanding.

They both sat in comfortable silence before T'Challa asked another question.

"What was it like? Life during the Great Depression. If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"Oh no, I don't mind at all. Well, in a nutshell, life was tough. Some families were able to get by, but some weren't so lucky. My family… we were kinda… well, I guess you can say we were on the borderline class between the lucky and the unlucky." Steve said as he sat his glass back down onto the table.

Piqued, T'Challa questioned, "How so?"

Steve's eyes turned misty at the question. Steve loosened his tie with one hand and leaned back in his seat. If he was gonna share his life experiences, he might as well relax and make himself comfortable. It surprised him though, that he was willing to share these personal things about himself with T'Challa, given the fact that they had barely known each other for a few days. But, then again, Steve had viewed it as an opportunity to improve his rapport with Wakanda. And besides, Steve kinda felt like he owed T'Challa a big favor, for providing shelter and protection for Bucky…and hopefully for Natasha as well if she ever needed shelter.

With a sigh, Steve spoke, "Where do I even begin…" He then lifted his gaze towards the glass dome, staring into the stars as he sieved through his memories.

After a few moments of silence, Steve began narrating his life experiences.

"Well, my mother and I, we were the not-so-lucky ones at first. We barely got by even with my mother working overtime every single day. We were struggling to pay for everything, especially my mounting medical bills… But my Ma never gave up, not even once. Despite the extreme poverty surrounding our lives, she still managed to put food on the table every day. Sometimes I wondered how she did it…" Steve exhaled, "Anyway. That was the not-so-lucky part. But things became better for us after we met Bucky's family. They helped us out, a lot. And, well, that was the lucky part." Steve explained.

T'Challa nodded in understanding, "Your mother sounded like a great woman. Strong."

Steve smiled wanly, "Indeed she was. Apart from Erskine, my Ma was the one who made me the person I am today. But I guess that's kinda a given, since there weren't many people around my life to influence me back then anyway. We had a lot of happy memories together, me and my Ma. The only regretful memory I had with her was that of me being such a huge burden to her. Sometimes, I'd even blame myself for indirectly causing her death…" Steve took a staggering breath.

At that, T'Challa's face contorted in confusion, clearly alarmed by Steve's words.

Seeing his host's confusion, Steve clarified, "Because I was always sick, so to pay for my medical bills… she had to work overtime. And she… worked at a hospital, as a nurse. That was how she contracted tuberculosis."

"Sorry." T'Challa consoled.

Steve shook his head in dismissal, "Don't be. You know, there was this one time…" For a moment, Steve debated inwardly if he should really share this personal information with T'Challa. It was an extremely personal story. Over the years, he had only told the story to the people closest to him and the people whom he trusted with absolute conviction. Well, actually one of his life's regrets was that he didn't manage to share with Peggy that story, but then again, he had been busy fighting a war during his time with Peggy. Not exactly the best of times to share childhood stories when the world could literally end any moment.

In the end, Steve decided to be forthcoming with T'Challa; for the exact same reasons that had him attending the dinner invitation in the first place. Besides, it wasn't like he kept that personal bit about himself as a dark secret or anything like that. It was just _personal_ , that's all. In fact, he had willingly disclosed that story to Natasha before. It was during that same night where he snuck into Natasha's room to leave the two sketches he had done for her. Natasha had come to his room afterwards. He had told her the story that night when they traded stories with each other. She was the second person Steve had told the story to. Bucky was the first.

T'Challa was about to become the third.

Steve cleared his throat.

"One time, I got real low. Guess I just felt sick of being sick, and tired of being a burden. So I went up to my Ma and… I told her to abandon me. To leave me behind and to go live her life without me. Also told her that it breaks me to see her suffer because of me. Even worse, I threatened her that if she wouldn't abandon me then I'd do it for her, by taking my own life… I was only eleven at the time." Steve took another sip from his glass to recover himself, "But you know what she said back to me?"

T'Challa remained still in his seat, nursing his Whiskey, deeply absorbed in Steve's recollections.

Steve took T'Challa's silence as the cue to continue speaking, "She told me… that I was the sole reason she was happy in her life, and that I was her sole reason to continue living after my father's death. See, she said she was _happy_ , despite the hellhole that we were living in back then and despite all the hardships that she had to suffer because of me… she said that she was _happy._ Only because I was there."

Steve inhaled deeply, and lowered his gaze from the stars back down onto the table, "At first, I didn't believe her, of course. I asked her how she could be happy with all the hardships and sufferings all around her. And you know what else she told me? She said it was because she understood the _meaning_ of happiness. Then I asked what happiness meant to her, then she said, happiness meant living and spending every moment of one's life with the person one truly loves." Steve exhaled slowly and reached for his glass, "But then, I was still skeptical. Didn't really believe her because I was too young to fully understand what she meant back then. So instead of using words, she showed me. She went over to a drawer and pulled out a little notebook, showed me its contents…" Steve paused to take a sip of Whiskey.

"What was in it?" T'Challa asked.

"It was a scrapbook, a personal diary of some kind. In it, there were entries, records, basically stuff that she had written down ever since I was born. These personal journal entries… when she read them to me, they were all about how happy she was… and there were also a couple of photos. The photos were taken during the time when we could still afford to get our photographs printed out. I was just a few months old in these photos, and in them, my Ma was holding me in her arms, smiling like she was the happiest person in the world. After I finished going through the diary, she went on and told me that she'd rather suffer a happy life with me in it than live an unhappy but easy life without me in it…" Steve smiled fondly at the memory.

T'Challa nodded in admiration, "You really had a wonderful mother, Steve. She was a beautiful person."

Steve's smile widened into a grin, "I know. Well, after she told me those things, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world. It didn't matter that we couldn't afford nice food, good clothes or fancy toys, nothing else mattered to me other than the every moment I could spend with my mother. That was the first life lesson my mother had taught me, _the meaning of happiness._ From then onwards, I never brought up the subject of taking my own life again. Instead, I fought harder to live. I learnt to appreciate life, because she made me understood that _every life_ is significant as long as there is a _meaning_ to it ya' know? It was also after then that I never backed away from any fight with bullies." Steve chuckled at the end of his sentence.

T'Challa clapped his hands together before he reached for the Whiskey bottle, emptying its contents into both of their glasses.

T'Challa raised his glass for a toast, "Well, Captain. To Sarah Rogers. A loving mother, a strong woman, and one of the greatest human beings I've ever heard of."

Steve returned the toast and raised his own glass, "Thank you."

For a few moments, they both sipped at their drinks in silence.

Steve broke the silence, "So, I see that you've been to the Smithsonian then? I never really told you my mother's name."

T'Challa smirk, "See, Captain. What did I mention just now before dinner? That we Wakandans know a lot about the world. We have our ways of knowing that doesn't require us crossing beyond our borders."

Steve chuckled, "Touché." Realizing that there was only one final sip of alcohol left in his glass, Steve decided to propose a toast of his own.

Steve raised his glass, "To a new friendship."

T'Challa smiled as his mind registered the meaning behind Steve's toast.

CLINK

"To our friendship." said the King of Wakanda.


	11. Chapter 11: Assessment

_"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power." – Abraham Lincoln._

* * *

 **Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa**

The suit blazer was the first to go.

Flung unceremoniously from the doorway across the entire span of the deluxe bedroom.

It landed on the luxurious king-sized bed. One sleeve dangled off the edge of the bed. Limp. Flaccid. Like the stem of a withered rose. Like a cooked spaghetti.

Colonies of creases bloomed all over the garment. For a moment, they resembled the frown lines that might appear on the foreheads of disgruntled faces. As if the garment was somehow frowning at the owner, expressing its distaste at the owner's ill-treatment.

The dress shoes were next, kicked off and abandoned in front of the door jamb, with one shoe lying on side and overlaying its twin.

Mess. Disorder. Chaos. Untidiness. And disarray. It was truly unwonted to associate Steve Rogers with any such words.

He didn't care.

At that moment, apathy prevailed.

His guilt-induced indifference triumph over his neat-freak propensities.

Socks soon joined the shoes at the door jamb.

And thereupon, his feet were bare against the lush Saxony carpet.

Still clad in his vest, tie, dress shirt and dress pants, Steve padded slowly towards the bed, weary and enervated.

A quick glance at the nightstand clock revealed the time.

10:17PM.

Dinner officially ended 15 minutes ago, when Steve called it a night. After the final toast, Steve had politely excused himself from the dining chamber, claiming physical exhaustion and the desire for some personal downtime. He made no stops on the way back to the suite.

Dinner had been fantastic. And for nearly two hours, he had been showered with blatant hospitality by his kind host. But pleasant as T'Challa's company was, Steve genuinely wasn't game for post-dinner small talks.

Excuses were made, obviously. Said that he was tired. Or that he hadn't want to impose on T'Challa's own time. He'd even told himself that T'Challa might need some private time to grieve for the late King T'Chaka.

But those were just what they were.

Excuses.

And the truth was that Steve just _couldn't_.

He couldn't stay.

He couldn't bring himself to luxuriate further in his host's generous hospitality.

He couldn't stay and indulge his host's pleasant company.

He couldn't possibly stay for another tumbler of whiskey or for another round of dessert.

He couldn't do all that.

He just fucking couldn't.

His guilty conscience wouldn't allow it.

God. How could he?

How could he wine and dine in a freaking royal palace when every single one of his friends were probably being tortured right this second for information regarding his own whereabouts.

His _friends._ His _family_. Those who clearly had his back when he needed them. And God, what the fuck was he doing when it was now the other way around, when _they_ needed him?

And how could he laugh, chat and _stargaze_ when the love of his life was running for her life because of what she'd done in order to save his own sorry ass.

How the fuck could he?

He had no right.

No right at all.

* * *

He sat on the edge of the bed with his face buried in his palms.

Somehow, his thoughts went to his dear Ma.

The emotions from his previous conversation with T'Challa were still raw.

He could still feel everything, replay every memory.

The pure love his Ma had shown him throughout his entire childhood and adolescent years.

The soul-stirring moments when his Ma showed him her journal, the journal that saved his life.

The gratefulness and relief he'd felt when his Ma refused to abandon him even though the abandonment was his own request.

The pain of having to grieve for his Ma on his fucking _birthday_.

The emptiness and hopelessness he'd felt after her death.

The harrowing realization that he had nobody left. No one left. No family left at the age of 18.

And then finally the rekindling of hope when Bucky rescued him from the jaws of forlornness, of loneliness; the day Bucky made him realize that he still had family after all; the day Bucky made him realize that he had a brother all along.

Such bittersweet memories.

He'd told T'Challa about Sarah Rogers; snippets of his past that he'd only disclosed to two other people in the world, people whom he truly loved.

He'd left the memories of his dear Ma to T'Challa.

He'd left the safety of his best friend to T'Challa.

It was a sign of all the trust he'd bestowed upon the new King of Wakanda.

A sign of respect and reverence.

It was, like their final toast at the dining chamber, a sigil of a new friendship.

He could only hope that T'Challa could see everything he'd done.

* * *

Over the years, Steve prided himself for the robust control he'd possessed over his own emotions. For years, he hadn't allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable, partly because it was necessary for the job, and partly because he was always buried in a situation so confounding and perplexing that his feelings were just…numbed. Discovering that he had been hibernating for nearly 7 decades, for instance. And then waking up from said hibernation into the 'future' he knew absolutely nothing about, leading a battle against a hostile extraterrestrial army right after waking up, finding out about Bucky. You see, in the face of all these strange circumstances, Steve always found himself being _unable_ to feel. Dazed. Stupefied. _Numbed_.

This numbing sensation served him well all these while though, it became the tough shell that allowed him to stare unflinchingly at all the weird shit the world had hitherto thrown at him, to face down enemies _far beyond_ the imagination of a scrawny kid from 1940s-Brooklyn. And heck, even to exert a position of authority over a group of super beings with issues. That numbness kept him focused, on the mission, and on keeping the promise he'd made to Erskine decades ago – being a good man.

At present, however, that shell had cracked, if his breakdown at the cliff top that afternoon was any indication. That afternoon, on some Wakandan clifftop, Steve Rogers lost his shit for the first time ever since he took the serum.

And losing his shit wasn't a nice feeling.

It made him feel like he was that kid from Brooklyn again. That scrawny, powerless kid who hated bullies yet couldn't do jack squat to stop them. That little kid plagued with feelings of inadequacy in the face of 'normal' and 'healthy' kids. But at least, that little guy from Brooklyn was still happy, despite all his shortcomings. Because his mother was there, like a flaming torch guiding him through every nook of the labyrinth that was the Great Depression.

His beautiful, strong, and kind mother. Sarah Rogers.

Contrary to popular belief, the person who gave Steve Rogers his strength wasn't Abraham Erskine. Here's the thing, Abraham Erskine only made Steve Rogers _stronger._ But Sarah Rogers made Steve Rogers _strong._ Sarah Rogers first taught him strength. Not physical strength, but inner strength, the strength of the heart.

Yes. That little guy from Brooklyn was strong, even before science hauled him to the pinnacle of humankind's evolutionary ladder.

But here's the irony of it all. A sick, twisted irony.

Right now, nearly seven decades after 1940s Brooklyn, the little guy had grown to be one of the strongest human alive. But despite all that log-ripping, chopper-stopping, superhuman strength that he knew he possessed, Steve didn't feel strong at all.

He felt not a single iota of strength.

He felt weak and dejected.

He could ask why.

But he knew damn well why.

It was because the people he loved weren't there.

Bucky went on ice.

His mother was gone.

Peggy had passed.

And Natasha...

Natasha, his partner and friend, the woman he loved.

She wasn't there too.

Not one of them were there.

He was alone.

* * *

The scent of peanut sauce became too conspicuous to ignore. After a while, Steve realized that the scent came from his hands. Raising his head from his palms, Steve glanced at the clock.

10:33PM.

He sighed

He must've sat there for quite some time now.

Rubbing his hands once again across his face, he noted the slight stickiness in his palms.

Right.

The peanut sauce.

He stood up from the bed and headed to the bathroom.

* * *

Steve lifted his face away from the sink, and with his right hand, he removed the sink plug. Droplets of water slid down the planes of his sculpted face, falling onto his vest, creating dark spots on the fabric. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his face and perused his own reflection on the mirror. His face was once again smooth and perfect. Gone were the cuts and scrapes which covered his right cheek just hours ago.

That brutal fight with Tony in Siberia instantly came to mind.

It wasn't really about the fight, per se, or the physical pain, even. It was the mental torment and anguish that bothered Steve the most. Steve was a loyal man, and to a loyal man, no form of torture could be greater than that which forced him to choose between the people he cared about, or worst, to do them harm. Twice was Steve subjected to this kind of mental torture in the short time span of 2 days. The first was when he nearly had to fight Natasha back at the hangar (thanks heavens he was relieved of that). And the second time was in Siberia, when he was forced to fight Tony in order to save Bucky's life.

As stupid as it sounded, Steve actually held back his strength for most of the fight, well, except during the final moments of the battle when Steve realized that he really had no other choice. For the most part of the fight, Steve had only done what he could to slow Tony down until Bucky could get away. But Tony, on the other hand, fought ferociously throughout the entire battle, with every blow fully intending to kill, despite their years of friendship. That realization pained Steve, because he knew right then, after Tony's attempt at a killing punch aimed at his head, that he had lost yet another friend. In the end, Steve supposed that he couldn't blame Tony, who had just only learnt about the demise of Maria and Howard at the hands of Bucky, a fact, which Steve had kept hidden from Tony for quite some time.

Steve only had himself to blame.

This was all his fault.

Tossing the wet towel onto a wooden shelf, a bitter chuckle escaped Steve's lips. As much as Steve hated it, he couldn't help but realize that Zemo had probably won. Zemo had made pawns of every single one of them. Zemo had played them and had gotten them right where he wanted them to be. The only question was whether there was more to Zemo's plans. Was tearing down the Avengers Zemo's only objective? Or was the Civil War just the onset of something worse?

With a sigh, Steve did a quick damage assessment of his team.

 _Natasha, on the run. Everyone going after her. Not sure if she can be safe with the whole world after her, not just her enemies, but also the government and the alleged 'good guys'. I doubt I can find her when she doesn't want to be found. I miss her…God…I miss her so much… I hope she's okay…_

 _Barton. Locked up. His family at home, waiting for his return. Goddamnit…_ Steve's grip on the edge of the porcelain basin tightened at the thought of Laura and the kids back at the farm. This was all on him. All because he had mishandled the entire situation and played right into Zemo's game.

 _Sam. Locked up. Shouldn't have dragged him into this. Now there's even a risk of bad people gaining access to the EXO-7._

 _Wanda… Locked up. She must be scared shitless. Dammit, she's just a kid, she doesn't deserve this. No teenager deserves this. Worst, I fear what they'd do to her to prevent her from using her powers, seeing that she is the most powerful one among the group. I hope they don't torture her or harm her… Christ._

 _Lang. Locked up. Heard he's got a daughter at home. And his suit… it's a dangerous weapon if it falls into the wrong hands…_

 _Rhodes… near crippled according what T'Challa had told me on our flight from Siberia to Wakanda._

 _Vision. Physically fine. Emotions, unknown._

 _Tony… physically fine also. But must have taken a big hit emotionally, finding out about the death of his parents this way. Plus, with Pepper not being by his side… this is bad…_

In other words, the team was in total shambles. He had failed his team as their Captain, again.

* * *

Steve had no clue how long he had been staring at the basin. The water had long since drained out.

Steve only snapped out of it when his Ma's words came back to him. Just when he needed them the most.

 _"Listen close, Steven… You ALWAYS stand up."_ Those same words had fueled Steve for years, had driven him to live beyond his physical shortcomings, had motivated him to enlist for the army and fight for his country. And now, they had strengthened Steve's resolve to stand up, and to make things right again.

 _"You won't be alone."_ Peggy had once told him, when he was about to take the HYDRA jet for a time-travelling plunge into the ice. Guess she was right after all. His Ma and Bucky were always with him in spirit.

 _Thanks Ma. Time for me to fix this._

Steve left the bathroom and headed towards the telephone on the nightstand beside the bed. Through the PBX system, he rang the front reception of the building.

"Good evening, Captain. How can I be of service?" said the receptionist who picked up after the third ring.

"Good evening. Ma'am, I was wondering if there's somewhere in the building where I can get a pen and a stack of paper, and perhaps also a couple of envelopes, those use for standard deliveries I mean." said Steve.

"Yes, definitely. We do provide them here upon request."

"I see." Steve hesitated for a while, "Um… I know this might sound like a bit of a strange request, but I'd like you to ensure that the paper and envelope are _standard_."

"I'm sorry, Captain. But I don't quite follow."

"I need the envelopes and papers to not contain any form of insignia associated with Wakanda. And they should also not be products which are specific to Wakanda. In other words, the recipient should not be able to trace the source of the delivery back to Wakanda."

"That does sound a bit strange, Captain."

"I believe it's for Wakanda's own safety and protection, Ma'am."

"Will some standard Double A brand A4 paper fit your requirements?"

"That'll do, Ma'am."

"Alright. I'd have someone send them up to you shortly. Is there anything else that I can assist you with, Captain?"

"No. That would be all, Ma'am. Thank you."

Steve hung up.

* * *

 **10:42PM Wakandan Time**

 **Royal Dining Chamber, Wakandan Palace, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

One thousand six hundred and fifty two.

 _That_ , was the total number of great warriors that Wakanda had produced over its epic history. They were by no means average soldiers running around shooting guns. Far from it. These were fearless and skilled warriors who were taught to wield weapons before they even knew how to read and write. These were Kings and Commanders who had led legions into victorious battles. These were men and women who were literally the physical incarnations of the Panther spirit among mankind.

One thousand six hundred and fifty two of Wakanda's unique versions of Miyamoto Musashis, and T'Challa knew _every_ single one of them – their skills, their personalities, their mentalities, their guiding principles, their hobbies, their achievements, their lineages, heck, even right down to their choices of beverages. Yet, _none of them_ were anything like Steve Rogers, as T'Challa had concluded after his 2-hour dinner session with the supersoldier.

The rotation of the dining chamber had stopped. All was dark, except for the dimly lit dining booth where T'Challa was still seated in. When Steve left around 40 minutes ago, T'Challa had dismissed all the kitchen staff, claiming that he would take care of the post dining maintenance of the chamber all by himself. Much to the dismal of the Head Chef, of course, though the King's orders were firm and precise, that all staff were to be dismissed immediately, and the King was not to be disturbed for the remainder of the night. In truth, T'Challa merely desired some solitude to mull over the interesting character that was America's Golden Boy.

Admittedly, there was a hidden agenda behind T'Challa's dinner invitation tonight. It was, of course, T'Challa's attempt to learn more about Steve, some form of character assessment, if you will. Like everyone else in the world, T'Challa was well versed with the tales about The Living Legend, about how the supersoldier had rallied the Allied troops in a victorious battle against Red Skull and the Axis powers, and about the various stunts and heroics he had performed throughout the Second World War such as the act of single-handedly defeating an entire HYDRA blockade which ended up saving the lives of over a thousand men. Yes, Captain America was, indeed, badassery personified, that much T'Challa knew already (after all, the media had made it pretty much impossible _not_ to know). Though, those weren't the kinds of information that T'Challa was looking to ferret out through his dinner invitation. Instead, it was the man behind the shield that T'Challa was keen in learning more about. T'Challa wanted to learn more about the real Steve Rogers.

Well, as it turned out, T'Challa's task was made easy by Steve himself, who, for the entire evening had been nothing but forthcoming. Needless to say, the touching story about his mother which Steve had willingly shared took T'Challa by genuine surprise. T'Challa could tell that the story was very personal, and there was no doubt that it was a story that very few people had had the privilege to hear.

In the end, T'Challa found the evening to be rather… _oxymoronic._ Because the evening was, well, insightfully perplexing. That's right, insightful, yet perplexing at the same time; perplexing, yet in an insightful way. True indeed, T'Challa had learnt a great deal about Steve in 2 short hours; that was the insightful part, obviously. But at the same time, T'Challa was also utterly baffled that such a guy like Steve even existed in the universe. Well, perhaps in the 1940s there might still be a glimmer of hope, but in the modern world where evil thrived? Statistically unlikely.

T'Challa leaned back against his seat in the dining booth, aimlessly toying with his left sleeve. His mind, however, remained ferociously at work, pondering endlessly about what made the Star Spangled man so special.

The image of a warrior which T'Challa was so accustomed to (if the 1652 certified badasses from the history of Wakanda had any say in the matter) could be identified via four traits: courage, skills, leadership, and honor. And from such a preliminary analysis, T'Challa could already identify the substance which made Steve so exceptionally noteworthy: it was because Steve had something _aside_ from the four afore-listed traits, it was a fifth trait that Steve possessed which made him so darn special.

The all-encompassing and unwavering morality which shone from within Steve like a glaring beacon.

 _That_ , was the fifth item.

In other words, Steve's entire existence oozed morality, from the way he spoke to the way he carried himself. Heck, this supreme morality of Steve's had even manifested itself in Steve's unique combat style. Steve had adopted a combat style, which, T'Challa suspected, was made deliberately non-lethal. T'Challa had seen the footage showing Barnes' attempted escape on the helipad, where Steve did the near impossible by pulling a chopper back to earth using only the strength of his left bicep. As a scientist, T'Challa was able to perform a rough estimate of the amount of force which Steve's biceps had to generate in order for him to pull off that stunt. What T'Challa discovered was astounding. His calculations had shown that Steve's biceps must have a load lifting capacity of _at least_ 3000 pounds to be able to pull back the helicopter. That alone, was roughly 10 times stronger than the strongest of normal humans. Therefore, it was entirely possible for Steve to kill a man with a single punch had he really intended to. Though, surprisingly, reality had shown otherwise. Time and again, most of Steve's adversaries managed to walk away with merely shattered bones or crippled limbs, but still very much alive. Which led T'Challa to the inevitable conclusion that Steve must've been holding back his true strength during combat situations. It became evident to T'Challa that Steve must have gone through great lengths to refrain himself from killing, even when he was up against the worst of his enemies. _That_ , per se, was enough proof of the depths of Steve's morality.

As an expert martial artist, however, T'Challa could approach the problem from an entirely different angle, and yet arriving at the exact same conclusion as before. By the time he was only 15, T'Challa had known almost every form of martial arts there was to know, including the deadly ones, which could _kill_ even when performed by someone whose strength levels lie _way_ below peak human strength levels. Needless to say, with his superhuman strength, Steve could, in theory, increase the lethality of his attacks by _hundred folds_ had he chosen to adopt such martial arts into his combat arsenal. Yet, not once had T'Challa observed in Steve's unique combat style any traces of these lethal forms of martial arts. Absolutely nada. Instead, Steve's fighting styles consisted mostly of boxing, parkour, and gymnastics. Being himself highly trained in the latter two, T'Challa had a pretty solid idea of what they entailed: excellent body and muscle control. Immediately, it became evident to T'Challa how Steve did it, how Steve had the ability to restrain his strength to such non-lethal amounts during a fight so as to refrain from killing his opponents. T'Challa had no doubt that it was made possible through Steve's intensive training in parkour and gymnastics, which ultimately granted Steve the perfect control over his body, and by extension, the perfect control over his strength! That was how Steve had always managed to avoid using his full strength during a fight. Clearly, this showed that Steve had made a conscious choice to be a protector instead of a killer; which was, again, quintessence of his morality.

Just days ago, T'Challa himself had nearly been consumed by the urge to kill; by revenge, by vengeance –he had wanted to take Barnes' life for allegedly causing the death of his father. So he knew how difficult it was to resist the lure to cross that line and submit himself to the urge to kill. And _yet_ , Steve managed to do it so effortlessly all the time.

Once again, the profound depths of Steve's morality baffled T'Challa, completely.

Which led T'Challa to another equally perplexing question: What _was_ the source of Steve's morality? As far as T'Challa could tell, it definitely wasn't because of Steve's childhood circumstances, well, not directly, at least. There were millions of other kids born during the Great Depression, living the same life as Steve did, yet none of them could hold a candle to Steve when it came to morality. In fact, through his anthropological studies, T'Challa knew that when subjected to hardships and sufferings, civilizations were more likely to undergo a moral descent rather than an enlightenment. Survival of the fittest. That was the principle which every human innately abide by. In the face of sufferings and hardships, morality would be tossed aside to ensure survival. Yes, people _would_ kill for shelter, for food, for clothing, and on the more extreme end? Resorting to _cannibalism_ , where people would actually kill each other and consume the flesh of the dead in order to survive. So how, then, could a guy such as Steve Rogers seemingly pop out from a society blighted by absolute poverty and hardship? A society, which, anthropologically speaking, was destined to go down a path of utter moral descent? The first thought that had crossed T'Challa's mind had something to do with the positive influence of Steve's mother (yet another person with _outstanding_ morals) on Steve's childhood. Indeed, a parent had a potent psychological influence on a child, a well-established fact. But was that all? Could there be other answers?

Another plausible answer to the question, T'Challa surmised, had to do with the physical weaknesses which Steve was born with. Steve's prior physical weakness must have given him the capacity to truly understand compassion, and to sympathize with the weak, simply because he himself was (or used to be) one of them. Besides, the lack of physical strength had likely made Steve turn towards another form of strength, namely, the inner strength, or the strength of the heart, so to speak.

What was the true answer, then? That question had been playing in T'Challa's mind like a broken record for the past 15 minutes. In the end, T'Challa conceded that he had no clue as to what the real answer was. It was a complete enigma to T'Challa what had been the source of Steve's outstanding morality. Would the answer have neuroscientific components? Did the secret of Steve's morality lie in specific neural pathways in his brain? Was it a born trait? Or was it an acquired trait?

So many questions. Yet T'Challa could offer no answers.

Being at the zenith of morality was one thing, possessing a downright indomitable will to act upon said morality, however, was another thing altogether. Steve's unstoppable tendency to live by the highest of moral standards was, in T'Challa's opinion, the other thing which made Steve so special. T'Challa remembered the time when he had first heard about Captain America. To T'Challa, it was an unforgettable memory for a 9-year old. That morning, young T'Challa was seated at the breakfast table, awaiting his father's arrival. When T'Chaka arrived at the table, however, the first words that he said to T'Challa was, _"T'Challa, do you know what day today is?"_

Naturally, young T'Challa's curiosity was piqued.

 _"No Baba, what day is today, Baba?" Young T'Challa had asked his father._

 _"It's the 4th of July, T'Challa. A very special day…" was what T'Chaka had told young T'Challa that morning._

Afterwards, T'Challa was told by his father about what made the 4th of July so special, about the birth and the life of the world's first superhero, about the defeat of the Nazis during the Second World War and about America's Independence Day. It was the first time ever that T'Challa was told about things which lay beyond the walls of Wakanda, so, naturally, he was intrigued. Much more stories were told to him by his father that morning, but the one story which had stuck with him even until now was the story about how Steve had relentlessly enlisted for the US army despite the obvious physical frailties he was born with. T'Challa (both young and adult) was simply amazed by Steve's willingness to lay down his life in order to protect, serve, and to fight for what was morally right. Instead of using his physical limitations as an excuse to run away (something which lesser mortals would probably do), Steve had proven himself worthy of a hero by enlisting. And that wasn't all, Steve had enlisted over and over again for _four times_ despite being repeatedly denied his chance to serve. Four times. Four. That was how willing Steve had been to do what was right. _Damn_ , what a guy.

Eventually, in his deep musings, T'Challa's mind treaded towards another interesting subject, a scientific problem, in fact. One that had baffled the best minds on Earth for several decades now.

The Supersoldier Serum.

It was no big secret that the only successful SSS formula was lost with Erskine's death. Ever since then, numerous attempts had been made to rediscover the formula, only, most of the attempts appeared to bring more harm than good. During his early 20s, T'Challa himself had made diligent studies into these attempts, but merely as a scientific interest, since Wakanda had no intention whatsoever in creating an army of supersoldiers.

The most notable failed attempt was the one made by Doctor Bruce Banner, who thought that Gamma radiation was the key ingredient to the perfect serum. Well, that attempt, needless to say, did not end well. At all.

And then there was another serum which was administered to a British Special Ops commando, Emil Blonsky. As a result of the serum, Blonsky ended up with super-rapid healing with the accompaniment of severe physical and mental distortions. The subject's state was rendered infinitely worse after being exposed to Bruce's Banner's blood, which ultimately transformed Blonsky into a grotesque Hulk-like monster named The Abomination. Obviously another failed attempt.

Next, there was the more recent attempt, called the Extremis virus. The formula was part of an attempt to revolutionize gene therapy. It was designed to allow the human body to regenerate damaged tissues to the extent that severed limbs could be regrown in an _instant_. The resulting formula, however, gave its test subjects capabilities beyond what it was designed for. Test subjects of the Extremis formula were shown to exhibit superhuman physical strength, superhuman reflexes and even the ability to generate high amount of heat within their bodies. Most test subjects, however, experienced major side effects due to the instability and volatility of the formula. Among the recipients of the Extremis formula, there was only 1 known survivor, namely, Miss Virginia Potts of Stark Industries. The rest of the test subjects ended up being blown apart from within their insides. Yes, like a human bomb.

The attempts which T'Challa would consider to be the closest to a success, however, were the Winter Soldier Variants of the SSS, first created by Arnim Zola, and later recreated by Howard Stark. And among all the recipients of this variant, the most successful test subject was James Buchanan Barnes, the First Winter Soldier. As a result of the Winter Soldier serum, Barnes was granted enhanced physical strength with no negative side effects. However, there were no observable changes whatsoever in terms of Barnes' personality, character and intelligence. The only aspect enhanced in Barnes' case was his physical strength.

T'Challa briefly recalled the conversation he had had with Barnes when they were all aboard his personal jet bound for Wakanda. T'Challa saw them limping out of the HYDRA facility in Siberia, and had offered to take both Steve and Barnes into Wakanda.

 _"Those soldier in the chambers, do you know them?" T'Challa had asked Bucky._

 _"They were HYDRA's most elite death squad. Those were a bunch of mean sons of bitches I'm tellin' ya'. Highest kill count in HYDRA's history even before the serum. I've fought them after they took the serum, as a test. It was a cage fight. They wanted me to test the abilities of each of the test subjects." Bucky had replied._

 _"And the result?"_

 _"They were strong."_

 _"How strong?" T'Challa had inquired out of curiosity._

 _"There were 5 of them. There was 1 guy in particular who was stronger than I was. Probably on par with Steve. Maybe even stronger. The other 4 were significantly weaker."_

 _"So the experiments were successful?"_

 _"No. There were still side effects. All of them were mentally unstable, and vulnerable to various forms of aggression. After the cage fight ended, those guys… they went berserk, completely out of control. They tried to kill each other and the handlers. It was nuts." was what Bucky had told him._

After recalling that conversation with Barnes on the jet, the answer came to T'Challa like a flash. And immediately, T'Challa understood Erskine's reasoning in choosing Steve to be the recipient of his serum instead of other allegedly _'superior'_ men.

The answer was crystal clear.

There _was_ no complete formula. There never was. The problem never was about whether the Serum could perfect the man. Not at all.

On the contrary, it was about whether the man could perfect the Serum.

In other words, the final ingredient required to complete the formula was _the man himself._

How absurdly simple the solution turned out to be, T'Challa thought to himself from within the dimly lit dining booth. A chuckle soon escaped his lips as T'Challa sought more corroborative evidence for his theory. The SSS was designed to amplify what was already within the recipient. Hence, in principle, good becomes better, and bad becomes worse. That was why Steve was the only perfect byproduct of the SSS! It all was because of Steve's innate goodness, and his unwavering morality that Project Rebirth was a complete success! Steve, therefore, by definition, was the superior man which had completed the SSS. And boy did Steve Rogers ever perfected the Super Soldier Serum like _nobody_ else. Steve had not only been granted enhanced physical strength as a result of the serum. It turned out that even his intelligence, his courage, his charisma and his _character_ was given a tremendous boost as well.

Seemingly on a roll, another thought registered in T'Challa's mind.

T'Challa realized that his theory could, in the same way, explain the reason why James Buchanan Barnes was the only Winter Soldier who did not experience any detrimental side effects from the Winter Soldier serum! It was simply because Barnes' innate qualities _exceeded_ those of the other 5 Winter Soldier candidates! _That_ , was why Barnes' had shown no ill side-effects at all from the serum whereas the other five succumbed to aggression.

Satisfied with his reverie, T'Challa crossed both arms across his chest.

The act drew T'Challa's attention onto something stored in his left pocket, which he immediately recognized as the gift Steve had presented to him just before dinner.

Reaching into his pocket, T'Challa pulled out the envelope.

From the envelope, he procured a piece of A4 paper, twice folded along the axes of symmetry. The paper contained an elegant colored sketch.

At first glance, T'Challa could tell which part of Wakanda the sketch was featuring. Well, it would had to be the view seen from the top of Wakanda's tallest cliff. T'Challa had to admit, the sketch was very well-done, especially in the little details. Occupying the entire vertical edge on the right side of the paper was the Giant Panther statue, which T'Challa assumed was the main subject of the sketch. The rest of the sketch contained sceneries from the rainforest, which acted as a decent background.

T'Challa continued to inspect Steve's artwork, but focusing his attention on the background sceneries of the rainforest instead of the Panther. The lianas and tropical trees were captured in exquisite detail, even the flowers adorning the lianas and the shrubs were included in the sketch. Near the center of the sketch was a water fall, the only waterfall in the entire rainforest, in fact. T'Challa knew that waterfall very well, it was the main setting in most of his treasured childhood memories.

A smirk formed on T'Challa's lips at what he saw next.

There it was, the final piece of 'confirmation' T'Challa needed.

His eyes glinted in delight.

There in the sketch, standing on the waterfall's left, was the unmistakable figure of a red-headed woman. There could be no question as to the identity of the woman featured in the sketch, none at all.

T'Challa smiled, refolded the paper and placed the paper back into the envelope. Ever since his conversation with Steve at the lobby of the Cryogenics Department that morning, T'Challa had had an inkling regarding the good Captain's feelings towards the Black Widow.

Admittedly, T'Challa sort of came across that hunch by chance.

Earlier that morning, T'Challa had hoped to be present at Barnes' procedure. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, he had been delayed. Upon his arrival at the Cryogenics department, he saw Steve standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby, staring out into the view, seemingly lost in thought. But from that, T'Challa knew that Barnes' procedure had already ended. Therefore, as an attempt to be a decent host, T'Challa had walked over to Steve and initiated a conversation instead of heading straight into the Cryogenics lab.

And it just so happened that T'Challa had mentioned Romanoff's name somewhere along their conversation – it was when Steve asked him about Ross' knowledge into recent events. Then all of a sudden, gone was the calm and charismatic demeanor of the Captain at the mention of Romanoff's name. It was replaced by the demeanor of a man with anxiety issues, much to T'Challa's amusement. It was, quite frankly speaking, obvious, judging from the way Steve's shoulders tensed up, and his eyes widened, all because her name came up in the conversation. Amusingly, Steve's overall composure reminded T'Challa of a deer caught in headlights, or maybe of an anxious spouse awaiting news outside his wife's delivery room. But still, T'Challa was a wise and unimpulsive man, so he hadn't really leaped into any conclusions straight away. There were other possibilities, of course. For instance, it could be that Steve's feelings towards Natasha were, in principle, merely that of brotherly concern. Two people could still platonically care about each other. More data would be required to make any further inferences. Hence, T'Challa had decided to seek out more confirmation.

Which he did, by throwing out a little test to Steve during dinner. Somewhere along their dinner conversation, T'Challa had deliberately mentioned the de minimis 'confrontation' between Natasha and his personal bodyguard, just so he could watch Steve's reactions to it.

T'Challa chuckled once more at the thought of how Steve had taken the bait like an obedient guppy. The worried look had been back on Steve's expressions, his unsubtle attempts to coax more information about the lady via a series of questions directed back at T'Challa. Very amusing indeed. Then again, in principle, even that little test wouldn't be enough to establish the fact that the Captain held romantic feelings for the master spy.

The last piece of _confirmation_ was the one that truly sealed the deal.

The 'mysterious' red-headed woman appearing in Steve's sketch. That was the final piece of clue T'Challa needed to convince himself of the truth of a certain proposition: that the soldier was totally in love with the spy.

As for the Miss Romanoff's feelings towards the Captain, T'Challa couldn't yet be sure. Though T'Challa suspected that she cared for the good Captain more than just a friend, judging from her actions at the hangar. Clearly, Miss Romanoff must have held a considerable regard for the Captain, that much T'Challa could be certain. For Miss Romanoff to sacrifice her freedom and liberty like what she'd done back at the hangar, it _had_ to be due to some sort of sentimental regard she'd held for the good Captain. It _had_ to be. There could be no other logical explanation. And considering the lengths that she'd gone through, and the amount that she had _willingly_ sacrificed, T'Challa would even go further to claim that whatever regard she held for Steve was a fierce one.

Nevertheless, the _nature_ of this regard was, quite frankly speaking, still indeterminate. Heretofore, T'Challa had yet to observe any evidence from Miss Romanoff's behavior which could indicate her regard for the Captain to be a romantic one. And for obvious reasons, T'Challa also knew that pulling fruitful tests on Miss Romanoff would be a much more daunting task compared to whatever that he'd tried on Captain Rogers tonight.

After all, unlike the good Captain, Miss Romanoff didn't wear her heart on her sleeve.

T'Challa smiled to himself.

It would be interesting indeed, to see how the relationship of those two evolve.

Though _if_ their relationship did manage to evolve into something more, there was one thing that T'Challa could be damn sure of: It was going to take a long, long, _long_ time.

Considering how utterly headstrong and _stubborn_ those two were.

The smile on T'Challa's face faded when he felt vibrations in his pocket. He removed the device from his pocket.

10.51PM

UNKNOWN CALLER ID

He did not like this.

The only people who had access to his private number were the Dora Milaje members and a selected few of the royal servants. The fact that he had _specifically_ requested not to be bothered for the remainder of the night was even more worrying. It could mean either of the following two things: that the nation was in trouble, or that his security had been compromised.

The call was dropped before he could pick up.

5 seconds later, the phone rang again. From the same number. This time, T'Challa swiped his thumb across the screen.

The Black Panther spoke harshly into the phone "Who are you? Identify yourself, and explain how you got this number."

The dining booth went silent as T'Challa listened to the voice on the phone.

His eyebrows shot up suddenly.

"Oh really? I'm quite impressed." T'Challa's tone turned amused.

Another stretch of silence ensued.

"Are you in Wakandan airspace?" T'Challa asked next, his eyebrows remained arched in dubiety.

"Hah! Incredibly wise of you to call ahead first. Wouldn't want your jet to end up in flames." said T'Challa.

The person at the other end of the line seemed to have said something amusing which caused T'Challa to laugh heartily.

"Can I get an ETA?" asked T'Challa as he began to walk away from the dining booth.

T'Challa nodded, "That should be enough time."

"I can have a limo on standby at the airport by then." he added seconds later.

"You on your own?" T'Challa asked.

T'Challa began descending the winding staircase towards the ground floor while nodding away at something he'd heard on the other end of the line.

T'Challa stepped off the stairs onto the ground floor.

He halted his steps suddenly, his tone turned dead serious.

"I'd advise you to avoid taking the south-east trajectory. Heavy artilleries lie in that area."

"Circle around to the north, I will send a drone to guide you in."

"Go off stealth mode. And make sure that your jet's transponder is accessible."

"The drone will send a ping to your jet's transponder once it is within range. Just be on the lookout for it."

T'Challa smiled, "Don't worry, all that can be arranged, I'm sure."

There was a 5-second long silence.

"Well, for what its worth, Miss Romanoff, welcome to Wakanda."


	12. Chapter 12: The Third Guest

_"Beauty is everywhere a welcome guest." – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe._

* * *

 **11.16PM Wakandan Time**

 **Wakandan Airport, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

The confident sway of hips.

The light fluttering of the lapels on an unzipped black leather jacket.

The rhythmic clicking and scraping of heels against asphalt.

And a flurry of red locks.

That about summed up the hustle and bustle of the tarmac.

* * *

It was a 7-hour flight across the Atlantic from the farm to Wakanda. By good fortune, Natasha was able to catch some much needed shut-eye throughout the majority of the flight, and was only roused from her beauty sleep when the computer had alerted her to the quinjet's proximity to Wakanda's airspace. In total, she had slept for about 5 hours or so, and was feeling much revitalized by the time the quinjet's transponder received a ping from Wakanda's air drone.

Hail auto-pilot.

Natasha was silently thanking whichever Godsend who had invented the world's first auto-piloting algorithm when her eyes spotted the airport's terminal building approximately 200 meters to her right.

With a sharp right turn, she began pacing towards the building, feeling herself picking up her pace the closer she was to the building.

Was it nerves? She supposed it was. Seeing how her palms were sweaty and all. Despite her knowledge that Steve was alive in Wakanda, she still couldn't quite shake off the feeling of apprehension and trepidation at the pit of her stomach. Dozens of questions coursed through Natasha's mind as her toned legs pushed her closer towards the terminal building.

How did Steve end up here?

Where the hell did Steve go after he and Barnes left the hangar?

What the hell happened after they both flew off in the quinjet?

Did Steve manage to defeat the 5 Winter Soldiers and complete his mission?

Did Steve come to Wakanda under his own volition, or was he coerced?

Did the government know that he was here?

Was Barnes still with him?

Natasha stopped abruptly in her tracks as her mind registered another thought.

Immediately, her eyes swept across the large expanse of the airport.

The tarmac was quasi-vacant. She saw a couple of fighter jets parked on the other end of the tarmac, probably about 500 meters from where her quinjet was, and that was it.

The airport was otherwise empty.

But Natasha _knew_ , that something was missing.

A twinge of disquiet cascaded through her veins, and along her spine before settling at the pit of her belly. The well-oiled gears in her mind churned effortlessly as the brilliant spy put the pieces together.

That quinjet.

The one Steve had stolen from the German airport.

It was nowhere to be found.

Which could only imply one thing: that Steve hadn't piloted the quinjet to Wakanda.

How on Earth did Steve arrive at Wakanda then?

Well, Natasha was pretty sure she knew the answer to that one.

Someone from Wakanda must have brought him here.

T'Challa.

But how did T'Challa know where Steve and Barnes were headed to?

She supposed that the question was vain, considering the fact that Steve had clearly abandoned the quinjet he had stolen from the German airport.

So it _had_ to be that someone had brought Steve into Wakanda.

And it was more likely to be T'Challa than anyone else.

So there she had a working hypothesis. T'Challa had brought Steve into Wakanda.

But on what terms?

Was it imprisonment?

Or was it refuge?

Was Steve coerced? Did they have something on Steve which forced Steve to comply? Did they use Barnes as leverage to get Steve to do whatever they wanted such as forcing him into Wakanda?

Was it another one of the government's agenda?

Worst, was this some sort of temporary holding place before he was handed over to the task force? Natasha silently prayed that that wasn't the case.

But if Steve wasn't coerced and had come to Wakanda on his own free will, then why didn't he take the quinjet to Wakanda?

Perhaps he didn't know the coordinates of Wakanda?

But Wakanda was placed under SHIELD's radar years ago and Steve was a Level 8 SHIELD agent and plus, he had a photographic memory. So it was unlikely that he didn't know the coordinates.

Unless...

Was he too hurt to pilot the jet?

Natasha's grip on her duffle tightened at the thought. She began walking again, at a much faster pace this time.

She hadn't asked about Steve during her brief phone call with T'Challa 30 minutes ago, and with good reasons too. An important principle in espionage was to never assume knowledge of a situation until you really do. She wasn't sure about T'Challa's intentions, therefore, she couldn't afford to reveal the real reason for her visit to Wakanda, at least not yet anyway. After all, it was T'Challa who had told Ross about her actions at the hangar, so she had no idea which 'side' T'Challa was on. To Natasha, there were really only two 'sides' that mattered, A) the side which wanted Steve dead, and B) the side which didn't. The way she figured? It was _her_ job to figure out the 'side' which T'Challa had pledged his allegiance to. In fact, that was another reason she came here to Wakanda apart from finding Steve.

Had the circumstances not been this _compromising_ , her mission would undoubtedly involve some form of pseudo-protocol as simplistic as: get in, find Steve, and then get the fuck out of there. But unfortunately for the Black Widow, she was caught in a tight spot because she had virtually zero intel whatsoever with regards to the circumstances of Steve's presence in Wakanda. For one, she knew that Steve was alive in Wakanda and…

Well, that was pretty much all she knew.

The plan, was to arrive at Wakanda as an ally, and then dig up whatever intel about Steve's stay in Wakanda while she was there. If it turned out that Steve was under Wakandan protection, well then, peachy, maybe she'd even invite him to join her for a nice little stroll in some Wakandan town to live and embrace Wakanda's cultural idiosyncrasies. Heck, she could even try setting Steve up with some nice Wakandan lady, score him a hot date or two. Bet that'd be pretty fun. _But,_ if Steve was in any way imprisoned in Wakanda, then she would have to find a way to get him out. The latter might take a while, indubitably, but still very much within the realms of possibility – she was The Black Widow after all.

There was, of course, the concern that she had been deemed an unwelcomed person in Wakanda before she could even enter the nation. Which was why she had given T'Challa a ring around 30 minutes ago: to gauge the playing field. If it really turned out that she was unwelcomed? Hmm, well, let's just say, that she would have to get creative, _really, really creative._ Though luck was clearly on her side since T'Challa had welcomed her arrival with substantial exuberance. Then again, even the warm welcome by her host wasn't enough for her to let her guard down completely.

Either way, she was infiltrating Wakanda that night, be it through legal or illegal means. There was absolutely no question about that.

The automatic glass door of the terminal building slid open.

* * *

She spotted the limo at the pick-up zone. It was a 2-door stretch limousine with tinted windows. Considering the locale, she was willing to bet all her stakes that the vehicle was constructed entirely of vibranium. T'Challa was nowhere to be seen, but the Wakandan woman who had 'threatened' her in Berlin a day ago stood blocking the long rear door of the limo.

 _Great, so she's my chauffeur now. Real fun._

What ultimately transpired approximately thirty seconds later, was a staring match between two women. The tension between the two was palpable.

Long, generous red locks versus baldness.

Not-so-tall versus tall.

Fair skin versus dark skin.

Beautiful versus beautiful.

Russian versus Wakandan.

Avenger versus Dora Milaje.

Quite a showdown that was.

Neither spoke.

The redhead was waiting for her newfound 'BFF' to step the fuck aside so she could actually board the goddamn limo, which (if she may be so bold to make such a claim) was _clearly_ meant for her use.

BFF continued her death stare.

A real amiable bunch, these Wakandans, seriously.

But then again, hadn't she done the exact same thing back in Berlin a day ago, when she blocked the door to T'Challa's limo, and challenged the same bald bodyguard to a staring match?

A smirk quickly found its way onto Natasha's lips, betraying her amusement at the uncanny role reversal. And immediately, she knew what her opening line was going to be. How could she not? After all, it was only _polite_ to return the _favor_ , wasn't it?

"Move. Or be moved…" said Natasha, her smirk widened.

Apparently, that broke the ice as a quick smile formed on BFF's face. Perhaps even macho Wakandan women who had a thing for 'moving' people could appreciate a good quip every once in a while.

At about the same time, the rear door of the limo slid open and T'Challa stepped out.

"Miss Romanoff."

"T'Challa." was all Natasha said. She would need to coax information about Steve pretty soon, but she was gonna have to find the right time.

 _Now's too soon._

She schooled her features.

 _Can't let him know that I'm here to get Steve._

As far as T'Challa was concerned, she was only there to seek refuge. She'd only divulge that much. She had made no mentions whatsoever regarding Steve.

T'Challa, on the other hand, seemed to find her reserved behavior rather odd. For one, Natasha wasn't behaving in the way that T'Challa had expected she would, such as bombarding him with questions about the good Captain's well-being, for instance. Well, even though she hadn't explicitly stated it during their brief phone call, T'Challa had assumed that she had come to Wakanda to look for the good Captain. Had he assumed wrong? He gave Natasha a quick once over and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure the spy out.

What happened next took Natasha by complete surprise.

T'Challa burst out laughing.

 _Now this is awkward…_ Natasha thought warily.

Natasha's face scrunched up in confusion but T'Challa spoke before she had a chance to utter another word.

"Oh I see what's going on here... you don't trust me." T'Challa nodded, "Understandably so."

 _Shit. Cover's blown._

Should she abort? Damn it. What a waste.

Natasha was about to open her mouth to voice her indignation before she was, once again, cut off by T'Challa.

"Relax Miss Romanoff. I have a pretty good guess as to why you're here. And just for the record, you have no cause for worry. I can assure you that Captain Rogers and I are on good terms now. They are both under Wakandan protection until things quiet down. It's unofficial though. Nobody except us knows about this arrangement. And relax, I didn't tell Stark either."

 _Well, then._ How about that.

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa, Romanoff. Just hold on a second…_

Natasha quickly regained her skepticism.

 _It could be a ploy. Or a trap._

Yeah… A trap, in order to capture her, using Steve as bait.

Sensing Natasha's skepticism, T'Challa smiled again.

"Takes much more than words to convince the Black Widow, so it seems." T'Challa said before giving a curt nod to Miss BFF.

The latter reached into her pocket and took out a golden envelope with Wakanda's insignia printed at the bottom right corner.

Natasha took the envelope from BFF.

"What's this?"

" _That_ , is an invitation I had sent out to Captain Rogers requesting him to join me for dinner tonight, which he _did_. And _this,_ " T'Challa reached into his own pocket, took out a piece of folded A4 paper and began unfolding it, "is the gift Captain Rogers had brought me when he attended the invitation."

Natasha handed the invitation back to BFF and quickly scanned the A4 paper that T'Challa was holding.

It was a sketch, a very beautiful sketch. Her eyes skimmed through the paper.

"Nice sketch." Natasha said. She recognized the style, and the artwork looked a lot like Steve's, she would give T'Challa that one. And she'd also recognized the color tones of Steve's color pencils.

But she needed more confirmation than that.

And Natasha knew just what to look for.

Natasha was familiar with Steve's drawing habits, including how he would always leave his signature behind the page of every single one of his sketches.

Natasha smirked.

"Show me the back of the paper."

T'Challa laughed and turned the paper over.

There it was. The familiar cursive which read 'Steve Rogers' with the day's date scrawled underneath it.

Natasha's shoulders sagged in relief.

"So you believe me now?" T'Challa asked, his face crinkled up in good nature.

"Take me to him."

* * *

The limo was spacious and it contained 2 rows of seats. The seat configurations were such that each seating row faced each other. There was ample leg space separating the two rows. Right at the center of the leg space was a holographic projector. Natasha and T'Challa sat facing each other.

Once seated, Natasha crossed her legs and stared out of the tinted window.

Neither of them seemed to be in any mood for conversation, so they sat in silence for a while.

T'Challa had the distinct impression that the spy was still being cautious around him, much to his amusement.

10 minutes of the ride lapsed before Natasha's clipped voice pierced through the veil of silence like a dagger.

"Is he okay?"

When T'Challa didn't answer immediately, Natasha tore her gaze away from the window and saw T'Challa tapping away on his phone's screen.

2 seconds later, the holographic projector at the center came to life.

"This," T'Challa waved his phone across the light of the projector, and immediately a hologram popped up, "was sent to me by a royal scout this evening around 7PM tonight. It was found right underneath the tallest cliff in our rainforest."

Natasha scrutinized the hologram. It was a set of shoe prints left on dry soil. There was nothing spectacular about the prints except that it was, well, _deep._ Natasha reached towards the projector and picked up the holographic image to better examine the depth of the mark. From what the spy gathered, the shoe imprint must be at least 6 centimeters deep into the dry soil. In an instant, Natasha's eyes sparkled in understanding.

"This shoe print, you think it belongs to Steve."

"I do. And I have good reasons to believe so." T'Challa swiped the screen on his phone and once again waved the phone across the lights of the projector.

New holograms filled the space of the limo. This time, it showed a tall cliff.

"This cliff, as you can see, is at least 5000 feet tall. It hasn't rained in Wakanda for days so the soil must be dry. A shoe imprint that deep on such dry soil can only be caused by a huge impact of the shoe's base against the ground. And I don't think anyone in Wakanda other than the Captain could've survived a leap from the top of a 5000-feet cliff."

 _Well, if he was jumping around already then I guess that's a good sign._

Natasha nodded, "I see, so he's physically okay."

"He was in pretty bad shape when I met him yesterday. I met him in Siberia, by the way, it was where he and Barnes were headed after they left us at the airport. There was a HYDRA facility there, where the 5 Winter Soldiers were kept. Anyway, the Captain seemed physically fine after a day's rest. When I saw him again this morning, there were still some scrapes and surface wounds on his cheeks, and he told me himself that he had some broken ribs which would heal by tomorrow. But when I met him for dinner just now, the cuts on his cheeks had already vanished. And, well, if he could jump off a cliff that tall… I doubt that he's in too much trouble, Miss Romanoff." T'Challa smiled kindly.

"Good to know."

Natasha hesitated for a few seconds before asking, "You said you found them in… Siberia, was it? But how did you know where Steve and Barnes were headed to? We never really found out at the airport."

"I tailed Stark."

Natasha's eyes widened immediately, seemingly taken aback by what she heard. "Stark _knew_? How? He didn't tell me."

"Yes. But he only found out after you had left the compound. He told me that he did some digging and found corroborative evidences to support Captain Rogers' story. As for how he found out the exact location of the HYDRA facility where the Captain was headed, he said that he managed to get Wilson talking."

 _Damn it, Tony. You could've called me, and we could've gone to Siberia together as Cap's backup. Yet you didn't. So much time wasted. I'm so gonna kick your ass for this, Shell-Head._

"What exactly happened in Siberia?"

T'Challa sighed, almost as if he dreaded hearing the question. He leaned back in his seat and said nothing. Just like that, the tight knot returned to the pit of her stomach.

 _Something bad must've happened._

"T'Challa… Tell me what happened." Natasha pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Miss Romanoff… All I can say is that… what happened in Siberia was something deeply personal between Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Stark. It is really not my place to reveal it to you. I think it would be best if you hear the story from Captain Roger's own mouth. I'm sorry."

"Fine, guess I'd have to _wait_ for people to tell me things, _again._ But hey, at least this time I wouldn't have to wait for one whole day to have _some_ meagre idea about the vital status of the people I care about, so that's just _fantastic_ I suppose." Natasha said in a tone that dripped with acrimony.

T'Challa flinched slightly and shook his head in resignation.

"I _can_ , however, tell you what I've mentioned to Ross yesterday. I left out the details which concerned Captain Roger's and Mr. Stark's privacy."

"I'm listening…"

"Apparently, the whole scheme was a revenge plot orchestrated by Helmut Zemo, that fake UN psychiatrist. He lost his family during the Battle of Sokovia. Long story short, he blamed the Avengers for that, and he wanted revenge against you guys. The whole idea was to destroy the Avengers from within. And he figured he could do so by getting the Avengers to kill each other."

Natasha quickly put two and two together.

As her brilliant mind worked, her beautiful eyebrows furrowed deeply, almost as if they were knitted together by an invisible thread.

"So Steve and Tony beat the living shit out of each other? Was that what happened in Siberia?!" Natasha half-shouted.

T'Challa kept quiet, not knowing how to respond to her outburst.

"Ребята children…"

"I'm sorry, Miss Romanoff. It wasn't my intention to upset you..."

" _Christ_ , I leave these boys on their own for no more than one _fucking_ day, and _this_ is what happened? _Ughh!_ Боже. This is such childish bullshit." Natasha shook her head in utter disgust, her red tresses spilled to the front of her breasts, covering the front of her leather jacket.

Her host sat in awkward silence.

"How? How did this Zemo guy get them to fight each other?" Natasha asked after a few calming breaths.

"Well, that's the personal part. You need to hear it from the Captain himself, Miss Romanoff. It really isn't my place to tell you."

Natasha wasn't a fool. She knew what T'Challa really meant. He meant that there might be a chance that Steve would choose not to tell her the full story. More reason for her to believe that something really, _really_ terrible had happened in Siberia.

Natasha heaved a heavy sigh, but decided to drop the subject for now.

"What about Zemo? Where is he now?"

"In custody. I handed him over to Ross. Stark and I had personally escorted him into his holding cell at the Raft just this morning. Sentenced to life in prison. No chance of parole."

"And what about the Winter Soldiers? What's their role in all this?"

"Apparently, they were merely tools to lure the Captain and Mr. Stark into one place."

"And? What became of them?"

"Well, Zemo blew up them all up with powerful explosives. The bodies were all charred beyond saving, at least according to what my top scientists told me."

Natasha's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the absurdity of what she had heard.

"So. What? Now he thinks he's some self-righteous fella doing the world a favor by destroying HYDRA's work?" Natasha scoffed.

T'Challa gave her a wry smile and a shrug, but said nothing in return.

Natasha's mind began working again. She thought a bit about what T'Challa had just told her.

 _Blow them up? Isn't that a bit overboard?_

"Did you find out why he destroyed the test subjects' bodies? It seemed a bit unnecessary." Natasha questioned again.

"That's actually the weirdest part about this whole incident. I asked him about it, but he kept quiet throughout the entire journey back to JCTC's HQ. Never said a word. And he had even attempted suicide when I subdued him outside the HYDRA facility. Well, obviously, I prevented it."

Natasha snorted.

"You saved his life. I'm sure you did the world a _huge_ favor for that stunt. Hey, I hear they even give out medals for suicide preventions these days. Interested?"

T'Challa chuckled in good-humor, shaking his head as he laughed.

"Then again, for the King of Wakanda to receive a _normal_ medal would be a bit condescending, I suppose. Plus, I don't think the bureaucrats can afford the vibranium ones. But hey, you can always take a portion out of that massive rock of yours at home, and make yourself a medal. Bet that'd be pretty fun…" Natasha sassed, her eyes holding a humorous gleam.

T'Challa's laughter filled the space of the limo.

"Ever thought of becoming a comedienne, Miss Romanoff?"

"No. Why? Is there a vacancy in Wakanda?" she teased.

The King's eyes crinkled in amusement, "I'm not making a job offer, if that's what you're expecting."

"No? Dang. And here I was, looking forward to hear a good story about the shortage of stage clowns in the world's wealthiest nation."

T'Challa guffawed.

Seeing her host's obvious delight, Natasha allowed a hint of a smile to show on her own face.

"What I actually meant was that since you're now a fugitive on the run and all, it'd be a pretty good cover for you." remarked T'Challa.

"Oh? And when exactly, might I ask, did the King of Wakanda become such an expert in espionage?" she asked teasingly.

The King chuckled.

"How much are you willing to bet, that no one would associate the deadly Black Widow with somebody who does gags for a living?" T'Challa challenged.

The spy smirked, "Sorry. No bets. I don't own vibranium chips." she paused, "But I'll consider your suggestion."

The limo hit a few bumps, interrupting their brief exchange.

"What about Barnes? You didn't kill him did you?" Natasha asked when the car ride turned smooth once again.

"He's safe. He'd requested to be put in Cryogenic sleep until we can figure out how to reverse HYDRA's mental programming. The procedure was completed this morning. I had him placed under the supervision of Doctor Afia, the HOD of WIS' Cryogenics Department, with the Captain's approval, of course." At Natasha's obvious expression of alarm, T'Challa quickly clarified, "Don't worry, she's clean. You can trust her."

Natasha shook her head in disbelief, an incredulous laugh escaped her beautiful lips, "So let me get this straight, just _a day_ ago, you nearly clawed Barnes' head right off his shoulders, and now, what? You're a member of his barbershop quartet now? Who would've thought that things would turn out to be so much _fun_?"

"As amusing as it sounds, Miss Romanoff. It was completely true what I said before. Zemo manipulated me. And I was nearly consumed by vengeance as a result. Helping Barnes is just... well, you can think of it as my way of righting wrongs."

Natasha sighed.

"Well I guess that answers the question of why Steve's here in Wakanda."

* * *

"Where are we headed to anyway?" Natasha asked when T'Challa reached over to shut down the holographic projector.

For a moment, T'Challa stared at her in amusement, his eyebrows arched high.

Natasha smirked.

"Sorry, usually I'm able to tell these things right away. But it's my first time here. Well, I guess _you_ should know," Natasha shrugged, "I mean with Wakanda's non-outsider policy and all that. Kinda puts a damper on tourism, don't you think?"

T'Challa laughed.

"Well, and here I am, thinking that you people from SHIELD knew every nook and corner of Wakanda already." T'Challa added a nonchalant shrug of his own with a smug smirk, "what with Wakanda appearing all over SHIELD's radar and all that."

Natasha's smirk transfigured into a throaty chuckle, "Touché. And you came about this knowledge how?"

T'Challa's smirk widened, "Like I said before, Miss Romanoff, Wakanda's resources are considerable."

"Considerable resources, yes. But tourism? Not so much." Natasha said wittily.

"And to answer your first question," T'Challa grinned in amusement, "I'm taking you to the place where the Captain is currently staying. The Royal Guest Suite. I've arranged for your accommodation to be in the same building as the Captain's. Your suite is just one floor above the Captain's. That is, _unless_ … if you'd prefer to stay in the same suite as the good Captain…"

T'Challa smirked at the end of his sentence.

Natasha rolled her eyes. _Men._

" _No_. An _extra_ room would be much appreciated thank you very much." Natasha said firmly, but her expression appeared amused.

"If you say so, Miss Romanoff. If you say so…"

That smug expression never left T'Challa's face for the rest of the car ride.

* * *

 **11.47PM Wakandan Time**

 **Natasha Romanoff's Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa.**

It was an impressive suite, no doubt.

The entire living area was an open plan room, well, with the exception of a large bedroom at the end.

Natasha entered the bedroom and checked it out while T'Challa stood outside in the living area having a phone conversation. There was a King-sized bed and a mahogany nightstand beside it. The bathroom was located in the bedroom too. It all seemed pretty luxurious and well-made for a country which allegedly hosted very little guests.

T'Challa had just got off his phone when Natasha went back out into the living area.

"I hope that the suite is to your liking." T'Challa stated as he pocketed his phone.

"It is pretty nice. But it's a damn shame that nobody's gonna use them after we're gone though."

"Well, not exactly. Sometimes, this place would be used to accommodate Wakandan high ministers when they visit Central Wakanda for meetings."

Natasha nodded.

She opened her mouth before shutting it again in hesitance.

The subtle act did not go unnoticed by T'Challa.

"What is it, Miss Romanoff?"

"No. It's nothing. I just… Thank you, T'Challa. For all this."

 _For taking care of him. For bringing him back alive._

"You're welcome, Miss Romanoff. You can stay here for as long as you like. And... I'm sorry to say this, but the terms and conditions that I've told you about in the car ... those can't be helped... I've really done my best, Miss Romanoff." T'Challa shot her an apologetic look at the end.

"It's okay, T'Challa. It's just how the world works. So, I get it. Besides, you've done more than enough for all of us. You've kept him safe and brought him back alive. And..." Natasha sighed, her voice turning into a soft whisper, "and that's just..."

T'Challa nodded, "It's the only thing that matters, right?"

Natasha smiled, "It's... " She lowered her gaze to the ground, "It's enough..."

"Well, it's my job to make sure that it is." said her host.

"Lucky us, then. A lot of things could be done if we have Wakanda's support. I mean..." Natasha paused and made an open-armed gesture at the space surrounding them, "you guys really have everything here."

T'Challa smiled.

"Well, we do strive to improve and upgrade our infrastructures as much as we can. And, before I forget, I should also inform you that any facilities in Central Wakanda are yours to utilize throughout your entire stay. _Including,_ " T'Challa threw a pointed look at the nasty bruises on the spy's neck, "our medical facilities."

 _Damn. Really gotta put some make up on to cover the bruises before I go to Steve's._

Natasha smiled tentatively as she lifted her right hand to cover the nasty contusions on her neck, "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Alright then. Have a pleasant evening. Oh, and _also,_ will you save me some pain by staying the hell away from our computer systems? If you need anything intel-wise, all you have to do is _ask_. And by asking, I meant asking with your mouth, not your fingers." T'Challa said as he began heading towards the door.

Natasha chortled at the comment.

"I'll try to keep that in mind. But I make no promises."

T'Challa's hand was already touching the door handle when he suddenly stopped in his track. He turned back to face Natasha again. His expression humorless.

"I can't help but notice that Captain Rogers is very affectionate of you."

"Do you now?" Natasha raised her brows.

T'Challa's lips curled into a smile.

"He wasn't hiding it very well. He spoke very highly of you. And he seemed to care very deeply about your well-being. Just this morning, he literally pleaded me to offer you with the same protection I had offered to Mr. Barnes."

Try as she might, but at that moment, Natasha couldn't help but feel the flutters seeping into her heart and the butterflies twirling around in her belly. All of a sudden, the room felt all too warm.

She cleared her throat once and recovered herself.

"I'll be sure to thank him, then. And for the record, I care about him too. I…uh… I owe him."

T'Challa smirked, "Trust me, I _know_ , that you care about him. So much that you'd zap me with 2000 volts of electricity _thrice_ for his sake."

Natasha threw a sheepish look at her host.

"Oh. Yeah… that. Sorry. No hard feelings?" Natasha cringed slightly at her lame attempt at an apology.

"All forgiven, Miss Romanoff. I understand completely."

T'Challa's smile was kind and sympathetic, which had Natasha going onto the defensive instantly.

 _I don't need no pity._

"Your magnanimity deserves honor." Natasha remarked drily before allowing a smirk to take over her countenance, "Want a medal?"

Whenever she needs to hide her emotional vulnerability, wit and humor would be the first thing she would turn to, always. Luckily for her, the King of Wakanda seemed to have a decent sense of humor as a series of contagious laughter erupted from within T'Challa.

" _A medal_ won't be necessary. What _is it_ with you and medals anyway?" T'Challa gave her a funny look before continuing, "Anyway, I'm glad that Captain Rogers has you by his side, someone who's worthy of his companionship."

Natasha eyes widened with shock. Being worthy of Steve's companionship? _HER?! NATASHA MY-LEDGER-IS-DRIPPING-RED ROMANOFF?_ Worthy, of STEVE PARAGON-OF-VIRTUE ROGERS' companionship?

Effing wow.

Did hell just freeze over? She kinda assumed that it did.

Seriously, other than Laura, no one else's ever said that to her. Not even Clint had ever mentioned it so directly to her face.

She quickly recovered.

"I uh… thanks. I guess? Well, he kinda needs someone to watch his back and keep him in line from time to time. He tends to punch his way out of things, if you haven't already noticed."

T'Challa smiled, "True, but I don't think it's that simple."

"Oh, really. And why's that?" Natasha questioned, her eyebrows raised.

"The Captain seemed… troubled. And tensed, as if something's been bothering him. It took me quite some time, but I now have a pretty good idea of what it was that's been bothering him. That being said, I think what the Captain needs the most right now is closure. And _somehow,_ " T'Challa threw her a pointed stare, "I think you are the only person who can give him that closure. Think very deeply about it, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha stared blankly at the closing door.

No clue what _that_ was all about.

* * *

 **11.55PM Wakandan Time**

 **Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa**

He was hungry.

And there were no more bananas left to save him this time.

The banana bonanza from the afternoon had long been depleted. He had munched off the remainder of them amidst the internal debate he had been deeply engaged in roughly an hour ago (about the things he wanted to say to Tony in his letter). Frankly, Steve wasn't even sure if his letter could get the point across. For all he knew, his friendship with Tony was already ruined beyond saving. He briefly entertained the idea of picking up the PBX and calling the front reception again to request for another stack of paper. Fire-proof ones; just in case Tony decided to burn his letter without ever reading it.

As if that'd make a difference.

With a sigh, Steve signed off the second letter he had penned, folded the paper and slipped it into an empty envelope. He then dropped the envelope beside another envelope containing the first letter he had composed. He leaned forward in the tall stool he was sitting on and placed both elbows on the kitchen counter top.

The first letter was addressed to the New Avenger's Facility.

Steve glanced at the envelope containing the first letter. Once again, a pang of guilt and regret overcame him as he read the first line of his own handwriting at the front of the envelope. It was the name of a friend he had recently lost – Tony Stark.

He stared at the name for what felt like hours. Cycling through each alphabet in the name, repeatedly, unendingly, _ad infinitum_. He paused a little at the 'r' in 'Stark'. He noticed that perhaps he might've put a little too much curve at the top of the 'r', making it appear more like an 'n' instead of an 'r'.

He ignored his little observation and thought back to the letter's contents.

Had he said enough?

Would Tony even read it?

He didn't say much, that was for sure. Hell, there wasn't much for him to say, even.

What the hell was he supposed to say anyway?

What, like, 'Hey, Tony? I'm sorry I lied to you for months about your parents?'

Or, 'Hey, Tony. Sorry that I punched you and dented your little metal helmet. Though if I'm honest, you pretty much kicked my ass back there. Guess we had finally settled that score between us the day we first met, huh? When I asked you to put on your suit and go a few rounds…'

Yeah. Like those would help.

In the end, Steve settled for a short prose which began with his expression of relief at Tony's return to the compound and a short ramble about his own faith in people. And then a few lines after, Steve had included a short but heartfelt admission that he had really been sparing himself by concealing the circumstances of Maria and Howard's death from Tony. There was also a brief mention of the Accords and Steve's own dramatic way of saying that they should both just agree to disagree, that he'd respect Tony's viewpoints on the Accords. The letter ended with a promise.

Feeling the strain of his emotions, Steve flipped the envelope over on its back, as if the sight of that name had stung his eyes. He turned his attention to the second envelope instead, which was yet to be addressed.

Steve had qualms about writing the second letter if he was honest, for he was beyond certain that he would be crossing a lot of lines had he chose to deliver said epistle. After a few moments' internal struggle, Steve steeled his resolve.

 _Post it, Rogers. This isn't about you or your guilt. You're doing this for Tony's sake._

Without another second's hesitation, Steve picked up the pen and wrote on the second envelope:

MISS VIRGINIA POTTS

CEO OF STARK INDUSTRIES

STARK INDUSTRIES HEAD QUARTERS

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Dropping the pen back onto the countertop, Steve picked up both envelopes and stood up from the tall stool.

 _There. All done. I'll ask T'Challa to deliver them for me before I leave Wakanda._

Satisfied with his work for the night, Steve made a beeline for the bedroom to put away both letters.

 _Come to think of, I've still got that energy bar kept in the suit's utility belt. Might as well grab that on the way._

* * *

He had just picked up his utility belt when he heard an insistent rapping of knuckles against his door. He paused in his actions, waiting for a couple more seconds just in case he had imagined the sound, not an unlikely occurrence, given his glucose deprived brain and all (he tends to hallucinate if his blood glucose dropped below optimal levels). But as it turned out, there was no mistake. Somebody _was_ knocking on his door, and rather enthusiastically too, if he might add, judging from the rapid successions of the sharp rapping sounds.

 _Who could that be?_

Steve eyed the compartment of the utility belt containing the energy bar while his nightly visitant rapped away at the door.

In the end, he had opted not to answer the door with a snack bar stuffed in his mouth, courtesy of his omnipresent politeness.

With a groan, he flung the utility belt unceremoniously onto the bed and began walking out of the bedroom.

 _Can't a hungry guy have his supper in peace?_

For a moment, Steve thought that he had gotten a whiff of Natasha's sweet floral scent as he was crossing the span of the suite towards the door.

 _Congratulations, Rogers. Now, you're really hallucinating. I bet Erskine would be so proud of you._

 _Must be the hunger, I guess._ Steve thought when he finally reached the door.

He hadn't bothered with the peep-hole. Honestly, he just wanted to get this over with and return to his supper.

The knocking on the door finally ceased when Steve turned at the door handle and pulled.

 _THWACK!_

The door was stuck.

Right. The security chain.

As Steve lifted his left hand onto the chain, his nose caught yet another whiff of Natasha's scent. This time, however, it appeared to be stronger.

 _Yeah right, keep dreaming, Rogers._

Steve gave the chain a couple of tugs.

 _It's probably a common cologne. Anybody can wear it. Don't get your hopes up._

The annoying chain was removed from its slot after quite some effort.

 _Seriously, whoever this is had better be some Wakandan Samaritan coming to deliver a second round of banana bonanza, or else-_

Steve yanked the door open.

In an instant, the feminine scent which had occupied countless of his wildest fantasies barreled through the doorway, smacking him full force in the face.

His jaw went slack in disbelief, and his eyes as wide as the shield that was formerly his.

Any thoughts about food were blasted to kingdom come by the sight of the beautiful woman standing in front of him. Her clothes were plain, simple, and black from crown to toe. Yet the plainness of her outfit did absolutely nothing to curtail the tantalizing beauty that Natasha Romanoff possessed in such overwhelming abundance.

Steve's mouth watered. And it ain't got _nothing_ to do with hunger.

Her voluptuous hour-glass figure was clad in a black tank top and skinny fit black pants with a pair of heeled knee-length boots covering the bottom half of her legs. Over that ridiculously sinful tank top, she donned a black round-necked leather jacket, one which literally gave out an I-know-I'm-hot-but-I-can-still-kick-your-ass-in-one-thousand-ways sort of aura. Long and wavy fiery-red tresses framed her angelic face, accentuating every square-inch of her alabaster complexion. Her sharp, evergreen eyes held his baby blues in a teasing stare. God, he could really lose himself in those eyes forever, drawn inexorably into the hues of emerald that they held, allowing himself to be siphoned into a realm of eternal bliss.

And then those lips, Christ, those luscious and kissable lips were configured into her trademark smirk, teasing him, beckoning him, reminding him of how much he had wanted her, how much he _still_ wanted her. All of a sudden, the sparks of desire, which he thought had long abandoned him, came surging back, re-entering his system in the most abrupt of ways, igniting every nerve ending in his body as every inch of his skin scorched with pure, unadulterated want.

Natasha Romanoff was gonna be the death of him one day.

And he found that he didn't mind that one bit, because if there was one way he was gonna die without any regrets, it would be to die in her arms, with the image of her beautiful face being the last thing he sees as the life slowly drains out of him.

All of a sudden, his hunger didn't seem quite as important anymore, so much so that he'd gladly tell his hunger to go have sex with itself right about now.

Those luscious lips began to move.

"Hey soldier."

God Almighty. Steve nearly came undone at that sound.

That sultry and husky voice that was so undeniably _hers._

Good God. She was here. She was really here. Good freaking God.

Yeah.

It was decided.

His hunger could go fuck itself for the rest of the night for all he cared.


	13. Chapter 13: The Soldier and The Spy

_"Agent Romanoff. Captain Rogers." – Phil Coulson, the Avengers (2012)_

* * *

Her scent.

Her sweet, intoxicating, feminine scent; wafting from her delectable figure, looming in the doorway, and hovering in the meagre space separating their bodies; waiting to be savored, waiting to be tasted.

The same scent, which had long since awakened within him this… physical… _ache,_ and this… _craving_ for the redhead; for her attention, for her touch, her voice, her smile, her time, her body, her _life,_ her devotion, her _love,_ her _everything_.

It was like some sort of addiction.

Yes.

Steve Rogers was an addict, a total Natasha-Romanoff junkie; an addict, fighting an endless battle against his unquenchable, and _dangerous_ need for her.

It was a losing battle. He knew damn well that it was. He knew it from the very first moment he was attracted to her.

Because no matter how many times he breathed in her scent, no matter how much time he'd spent with her, or how many moments and jokes they'd shared, one thing remained a fact:

He still couldn't fucking get enough of her.

Every breath he took only made him want _more_ of her; more, more, more, more, more and _MORE._

So much more than he knew she could give him.

Her heart.

 _That,_ was what he truly wanted.

Steve wanted Natasha Romanoff's heart.

But it was impossible.

Her heart was something he could never have.

It was something he knew she couldn't possibly give him.

Because she'd already given it to another man.

At least he still had her scent. And that was good enough for him, at least for now, in this moment, when she was standing at his door right in front of him, looking ravishingly bodacious in her kickass, all-black leather attire.

Yes. Her scent.

Her scent was enough.

It was enough for now.

Enough for him to know that she was okay.

She was here.

She was safe.

* * *

The supersoldier's thoracic cavity expanded to its utmost extremity as he shamelessly gulped down a big lungful of Natasha-Romanoff-flavored air, like as if it was the first breath he'd taken in days.

And he was thus rewarded with a sensation akin to having the taste of paradise right at the tip of his tongue.

It was perfection.

It was tantalizing. It was heady. Electrifying. And arousing.

Downright _titillating._

And, apparently, it was also all it took to transform the usually charismatic Captain America into a blabbering imbecile.

"Nat? Natasha? Is that… is that… really you?" Steve blurted out.

Did he just-

Oh God. He did _not_ just stutter.

He. Did. Not.

Ugh! Curse him and that stupid, stupid, stupid, moronic, idiotic, imbecilic mouth of his!

And what the heck was it that he'd said again?

 _'Is that really you?'_

Seriously?

Natasha fucking Romanoff was standing in front of him, and _THAT_ shit was all he could come up with?

Good Lord. He really wanted to kill himself. _Of course it's her, you fucking moron!_

Why couldn't he say something suave like, _'Hey, Natasha. Did you miss me, gorgeous? Cause I sure missed you. Oh no, your lips seem a little dry and chapped, why don't I wet them for you?'_ and then end the greeting with a searing kiss _right_ on the lips.

Hell, fuck the suaveness, he could've just said something normal like, _'Hi, Nat. It's so good to see you. Are you okay?'_ Yeah, seriously, how hard could that be, right?

But no.

No.

Apparently, Steve Rogers didn't do _normal_ or _suave_ when it came to the dames' department. He just _had_ to go with his long time MO during moments like this: acting like an absolute _imbecile._

 _'Is that really you?'_ Pfft. God. Someone please just shoot him dead already. Take him to the gallows. Feed his flesh to the crows, or to the goddamn vultures. Whichever that works. He didn't deserve to live after that display of utter stupidity.

Steve had noticed the playful quirk on the redhead's mouth even before the silliness of his own words fully registered in his mind. That endearing smirk on her mouth just moments ago was now curved slightly to one side, thus revealing that super adorable dimple on her right cheek; the same dimple whose hollow he'd always dreamt of placing his fingers or the tip of his tongue in.

Right at the moment when their eyes met and when she made a quick lift of her chin, Steve just somehow _knew_ that she was gonna start teasing him about that retarded salutation which came out of his mouth seconds ago.

"T'Challa did mention about the broken ribs…" she paused a little, glancing down at Steve's torso before returning her gaze to his face, Steve could see the emerald brand of mischief which her eyes abundantly held right then as she teased, "…but he didn't say anything about a head injury…"

Just like that, something in Steve clicked.

And he chuckled heartily.

That piece of mismatched jigsaw of his life he'd mentioned before? The one that just wouldn't fit no matter what he did? Yeah, it'd now fallen into place. CLICK. Just like that.

It was the first time in _days_ that he'd felt this alive. And it was all because of her.

The spy's visage took another form.

This time she feigned a gasp of panic and a look of concern as she placed her hand on his arm, "Oh no, Steve, it's not your dementia acting up again, is it? Because… you know, I kinda left all your Razadyne pills back at the compound…"

Oh yeah, that did it.

That really did it for him.

A cackle (which sounded suspiciously close to those made by big fat mother hens) erupted from his mouth before he could stop himself. And the expression of shock and disbelief on his face from the moment he opened the door transformed into a megawatt smile, pronto.

"That's hilarious, Nat." he said in between laughter.

And oh, by the way, there was absolutely no doubt now that he had made a complete fool of himself. It was all out in the open now, considering the way she was so mercilessly teasing him. Pfft, if only he gave a damn. Heck, he could be standing buck naked in front of her right now and he wouldn't give so much as a rat's ass. As long as she was okay, as long as she was safe, nothing else mattered to him. As long as he knew that she was safe.

The spy smiled a little.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, Nat?"

"Is this how you treat a girl back in 1945? Make her stand waiting out in front of your door? I mean, I know you're old, but surely not _that_ old to forget all your manners…"

Another chortle burst out of his mouth.

"Oh, I've _missed_ you too, Nat."

Yeah…How could he ever forget the sass? It was one of the 'qualities' which he found so goddamn endearing in her. Jesus, barely a minute had passed, and she had already gotten his ass thoroughly sassed. And she hadn't even stepped through the door yet, for goodness' sake. Guess that's the thing about them ASSASSINS. They always know how to get _A SASS IN_ , whenever and wherever. Sexy as _hell_ , in Steve's opinion. Well, okay, maybe not _all_ assassins, perhaps just _one_ assassin (who also happened to be a redhead) in particular because Steve really, _really_ had no plans in making any sort of comment about Clint's sexiness anytime soon. Yikes.

Clearing his throat twice, Steve finally tore his gaze away from her face and held the door wider for her. And then with a little come-in gesture, he stepped aside from the doorway to make room for her entrance.

* * *

By the time Steve turned back to face the suite after closing the door and slipping the security chain back in place, Natasha was standing quite some distance away from him. She was standing beside the kitchen counter – where he sat writing his two letters just moments ago before her pleasant intrusion. A black duffle bag sat on top of one of the tall stools, he noticed.

Unable to move, Steve leaned his back tentatively against the front door.

He felt edgy all of a sudden. There were just so many things he'd wanted to say that he just didn't know how to begin.

The spy shifted a little before she dared to look up into the soldier's eyes. It was a wonder how quickly the mood had changed from fun teasing to pure tension.

For a moment, neither spoke.

They stared deeply into each other's eyes, _hesitating_ , trying to find the right things to say to each other. That was the irony in human communications, he supposed. When two people are apart, they could always plan, think, and conjure up truckloads of things to say to each other with flawless precision. But when finally standing in front of each other, face to face, no words would come out. Well, as it seemed, the exact same thing was happening to Captain America and the Black Widow right then.

Guess it happens even to the best of humankind.

"Nat I-" "Steve I-" Their voices rang out in unison.

Both of their eyes widened, his in surprise; hers in glee, and perhaps a tad bit amusement.

Their gazes remained glued to each other's for what felt like an eternity. The tension in the room was now palpable. So taut was the tension that they both found it suffocating and difficult to breath. In the end, they both chose to stop breathing altogether and just hold their breaths in their lungs. The air was supercharged. And the space was quiet, deafening. Both of them seemed to be waiting for that proverbial 'needle' to drop, or just _something,_ anything to break the silence. Neither of them released the breaths they were holding.

And then the next second was when the magic truly happened.

They both began chuckling. Simultaneously. Synchronously.

And thereupon, the supercharged air sprung to life.

Sparks flew, dancing about the air, instantly kindling the Soldier's barely-concealed passions for the Spy.

Breaths were released, first in small huffs, and then in substantial effluxes.

Chuckles evolved into full-blown laughter.

Their joint laughter soon took away their capacity to hold eye contact. Both the soldier and the spy tore their gazes away from each other, their arms clutching hard at their stomachs as their diaphragms flexed in sporadic and uncontrollable pulses.

The sounds of their laughter soon pervaded the entire suite, in unison, in harmony. Deep masculine vocals stirred the air, _entwining_ beautifully with Natasha's sultry feminine tones, forming a taut cord. A cord which bound _them_ , the Soldier and the Spy, together. A cord that betokened a bond. A strong bond. A _chemical_ bond that was the fruit of their formidable chemistry.

And immediately, the Soldier could already begin to feel the weight on his shoulders seeping away, like as if a weight pack was suddenly unclipped from his back.

He felt instant relief. Instant gratification.

A euphoria.

Paradise.

It was a beautiful moment.

Because this was _them_.

This was the _essence_ of their relationship.

This was _their bond._

This was Steve and Natasha.

Captain America and the Black Widow.

The Soldier and The Spy.

And their joint laughter? That was music, a song; a symphony of the chemistry that they shared with one another.

It was relieving, and cathartic.

Truly a wonderful sight to behold.

He missed this.

Boy, did Steve ever miss this like fuck.

Missed _them._

Missed how they complemented each other so well.

Missed how they clicked with each other like the most unique lock and key combination in the entire universe.

Missed their inexplicable but welcomed _chemistry,_ their spark.

Missed how they worked so perfectly with each other like a well-oiled machine capable of perpetual motion; so in sync, and so flawless.

He missed her. Period.

The brief euphoria ended when the laughter slowly subsided.

He swiped his eyes with the back of his hand and filled his lungs with a big gulp of air.

He saw her lips move.

"Steve, I…uhh, I'm-"

But Steve held up his hand and interrupted her before she could finish. The look he gave her then was one of pure relief, bliss, and dare he say, _love_?

"Nat…just shut up and come here?" Steve half-pleaded with his arms held wide open at his sides.

When Natasha's feet remained un-movingly planted on the ground, Steve rolled his eyes and closed the distance between them in quick strides. His hands clasped the top of her shoulders the moment she was within reach, causing her to quickly peer up at him. There were hints of uncertainty, and of surprise in her eyes at first, like as if she was unsure (or perhaps _afraid_ ) of what _he_ was gonna do. But, when her expression slowly softened, Steve did the thing which he had been dying to do for days.

He pulled her shoulders towards him, crashed her petite form onto his chest, and buried his face into her beautiful red locks, into her welcoming, bliss-inducing scent.

 _God, I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you. I love you. I miss you._

He chanted those words repeatedly in his head like an unending mantra.

None of those words actually formed on his mouth.

Because right at that moment, no words were needed.

* * *

This time, he could tell that she really was taken by surprise, because an audible gasp (which he thought was rather cute and un _Widow-ish_ )escaped her lips the moment their bodies came into contact. He didn't call her out on it though. He just wanted to savor the moment and be as close to her as possible. He just wanted her by his side. He just wanted to hold her in his arms, warm, safe, and protected. Everything else be damned.

"God, Nat. I'm so glad to see you… I was so worried about you…"

Steve sneakily inhaled another lungful of her all-too-familiar scent. Floral, with hints of jasmine and rose, and perhaps a whiff of gardenia too. Just her scent alone could enkindle a sense of overwhelming bliss, straight from within his core; bliss, which he would gladly savor for all of eternity. Though, he did manage to notice that her hair smelled differently than usual. Well, _different_ , but still so damn good. Because it was _hers._

He could almost feel her smirk forming on his chest. Although he couldn't see it, Steve knew that the smirk was coming, and then some wisecrack or quip would be next in the line.

And he was damn right.

"You senior citizens might wanna cut-back on all the worrying 'cause I hear that it's super bad for the heart. Plus, I really don't think your geriatric card works here if you end up needing an ECG or something."

A chuckle erupted from his chest. Boy, he would never get tired of her old-man jokes. Never. In fact, he even wished that he could hear them for the rest of his life.

"Then next time, don't go missing on me again." Steve quipped back.

"Easy now, soldier. A girl can take care of herself you know…" she added quickly with that teasing voice of hers which he loved so much.

He felt her arms slowly snake their way up his back and settled right on top of his shoulder blades. It took every ounce of his self-control to suppress the shivers roused by the contact.

On impulse, Steve ran his hand through her red hair and stroked, tenderly. Lovingly.

"Doesn't mean that I'd stop worrying, okay? You know that I'll always worry about you, Nat." Steve pulled his head back and looked straight into her light-green orbs. _Because I love you._ He _very_ nearly blurted out.

"Ditto, Steve. Ditto."

For a moment, Steve could have sworn that he saw something flickered in her eyes. Was it longing? Happiness? Relief? But before he could work out what it was, Natasha broke their eye contact and turned her head aside. She then removed her hands from his back and let her hand drop to her sides. Steve did the exact opposite. He wrapped his arms tighter around her body, trying to prolong their embrace.

Her hands slipped up his chest.

The flutters took over his heart instantly. His face grew warm at her touch, and for a split second, he almost considered giving her a kiss on her cheek or on her forehead, just because the moment felt so darned right to him.

That blissful sensation, as it turned out, was short-lived.

Because he soon felt a light shove on his chest.

Oh. _Oh._

She wanted the hug to end. That was why her hands were on his chest…

 _Right._

A stab of hurt pierced through his heart.

Steve quickly pushed the hurt away, and schooled his features.

 _Way to go, you jerk. Now you've made her uncomfortable. Real suave, Rogers. Real suave._

Steve cleared his throat once and released her (reluctantly) from his bear hug.

* * *

When they were once again outside each other's personal space, Steve asked, "Are you okay? What were you doing all these time? And where have you been?" The worried look was back on Steve's face again.

Her right eyebrow quirked at the same time she canted her head.

"Well, I was tracking down this piece of _rare_ and _old_ fossil… But I think most people would call it _archaeology._ " Natasha teased.

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, very funny, Nat. Now tell me what I wanna hear."

"What? Isn't that what you wanna hear? That I was at this excavation site…digging… and shoveling…" Natasha resumed her teasing.

Steve was torn between amusement and frustration.

The latter won out.

Steve sighed, "Nat... please."

From the look of resignation and exhaustion on Steve's face, Natasha knew that he was done playing games.

"Relax Steve. I'm fine, really. I was doing what I do best, running and hiding. After you and Barnes left the airport, I went back to the compound to pack a bag. And then I went to hide in Clint's farm until help arrived."

"Help?"

"Coulson. I needed his help to track you down."

Steve's brows shot up, as if he suddenly remembered something.

"Yeah… come to think of, Nat, how _did_ you know that you can find me here?"

Natasha smirked.

"Ah, okay, I see, you must've contacted T'Challa…that's how you knew…" Steve stared pointedly at the spy.

"I did contact T'Challa… but only when I was about to enter Wakandan airspace…"

"Wait, what? So you mean you already knew that I'm here before you even contacted T'Challa?" Steve said, his lips slightly apart from shock.

"Mmm-hmm…"

"But how?"

Natasha's smirk widened.

"You're getting slow in your old age, Rogers." said the spy slyly.

Steve smiled good-naturedly, "Well, it's been a long couple of days."

The spy threw him a noncommittal shrug, but the smirk still very much plastered on her face.

"Well?" Steve prodded.

Without saying another word, Natasha pushed herself off the kitchen counter, turned on her heels and headed towards the luxurious loveseat couch at the suite's parlor.

Steve watched her form for a good five seconds before he went after her.

"Wait, you're really not gonna tell me?"

Natasha plopped down on one of the fluffy cushions, crossed her legs, and shot him an innocent look.

"Tell you what?"

Steve stopped in front of the couch and (as stupid as it sounded) used his Captain America glare on her. Pfft, like as if it'd work on _her_. After about 30 seconds of his ineffectual glaring and glowering, he gave up.

"Oh, come on, Nat. Are you really gonna be like this?" Steve whined.

"Why, yes. It's actually kinda fun, watching the great Captain America grasp at straws. Hey, isn't there a theme song out there about you? How did it go again? The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan? How about you become the _Straw_ -Spangled Man for a change, huh?" Natasha teased.

Steve rolled his eyes, but merely for effect, because deep down, he was enjoying getting his ass thoroughly sassed by her. And, not to mention getting his balls completely _busted._

"Fine. If you won't tell me, then I guess I'll just have to work it out myself."

The smug spy smirked.

"Sure you can do it, Rogers? I mean you couldn't even extend a proper greeting not ten minutes ago." she taunted.

 _God. That's not going away any time soon…_

Never one to back out of a challenge, Steve stood his ground. No way in hell he was gonna back away from a challenge, even if it came from _her._ Pfft. _Especially_ if it came from her.

Steve cleared his throat, "Oh you're damn right I'm sure, Nat. I'm gonna figure this out." Steve at least _tried_ to sound confident.

Damn. Where the hell was all his can-do attitude when he needed them?

The smirk on her face just went from smug to positively _vainglorious._

And God, that wasn't supposed to turn him on.

It wasn't supposed to.

But it did.

So sexy.

And saucy and-

Ohh…kay, he might _really_ have to go balls-out on this one.

"Just you wait, Nat. Just you wait."

"Well I'm not gonna wait around for another 70 years if that's what you're suggesting." she jibed saucily.

Pop. Pop.

Did you folks hear that? Yeah?

 _That,_ was the sound of Steve Rogers' balls being busted, in case you're wondering.

The supersoldier shot another glare at the redhead.

All he got in return was a conceited shit-eating grin.

Yep. He lost. Totally.

Downright got his sorry ass wholly handed to him by Miss Saucy over there. That much he knew when he'd failed to contrive a comeback to her last jibe.

Definitely the death of him, this woman. Lord have mercy on him for the rest of the night.

 _Sometimes, I HATE that I love you, Nat._

Steve spoke two seconds later.

"You didn't track the quinjet I used, did you? I had it on stealth, it'd be impossible to track. Besides, even if you did manage to bypass the stealth and track the quinjet, you'd be in Siberia, not here. Because that was where I left the jet, outside the HYDRA facility." Steve's eyes narrowed in thought.

That minx of a spy downright ignored him and continued playing with those perfectly manicured white nails of hers. Steve couldn't decide whether to be absolutely infuriated or amused with her demeanor. Part of him wanted to be mad at her for keeping him in the dark, but another part of him (okay, _most_ part of him) just found her playful demeanor so goddamn alluring.

 _Ugh. Maddening, challenging and infuriating enigma of a woman._

Seriously, the more he thought about it, the more it felt like that Natasha _reveled_ in busting his balls. Was it a general trait of spies? Not that he knew a lot about real-life spies anyway, he always considered himself as more of a soldier than a spy even though he used to work for the world's leading intelligence agency 2 years ago. But then again, even in SHIELD, he had never once felt like he fit in as a spy. In fact, he mostly felt like he was just a super-janitor or something, taking out the 'trash' with his shield _for_ SHIELD. Anyway, part of his meagre knowledge in espionage came from the movies which Natasha had picked out for him. He remembered the most recent one he had seen, around a year ago. It was 007, Spectre. He wouldn't say that he particular enjoyed the movies or the actions in them (being a supersoldier, he could personally attest to the fact that those actions in the movies couldn't hold a fucking candle to the actions that he himself had seen throughout his Avenging career). But then again, the movies turned out to be surprisingly informative for a non-spy such as himself, like for instance, he had learnt that spy-missions usually involve planting bugs or tracking–

Steve's head snapped towards the spy, his eyes as narrow as those kinds of slits where one inserts coins into.

"Wait a minute… Nat. You _planted_ something on me didn't you?" Steve pointed at the table emphatically.

Natasha finally looked up from her nails and stared at him. Her face betrayed absolutely nothing.

Oh, she has a nice poker face, he'd give her that one.

But Steve knew better. He knew. Because she wouldn't even have reacted if he hadn't somehow hit the right spot.

Steve clapped his hands together loudly, and pointed his index finger at the spy.

"Hah! Oh you _SOOO_ did, Nat. You soo did."

Natasha finally gave him a genuine smile and a tiny shrug.

"Busted." she said, a little sheepishly.

Steve's heart nearly melted at the sight of her right then, her beautiful smile mixed with cockiness and a little sheepishness. Did he ever mention how much he loved seeing her smile? God, how Steve absolutely adored her smile, and even more so when _he_ was the one who had put it there on her face.

"It's gotta be somewhere on my uniform… Where?" Steve asked pointedly.

This time, however, the spy answered with a smug look, "On your left boot."

"On my-" Steve turned around and stalked into the bedroom before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

Moments later, Steve walked out from the bedroom, carrying a tracking device the size of a grain of rice.

"I've never seen this before. This isn't part of the standard Avengers issue…" said Steve as he sat down beside Natasha on the couch. He tried to ignore the tingles he'd felt when their thighs rubbed against each other.

"No. These are older models. They used to be standard SHIELD issue a long time ago. In fact, I sort of… designed them, 2 years after I joined SHIELD."

Steve's eyes shone in understanding, and his expression softened immediately as he slowly angled his body on the couch to face the spy.

"Right. The Avengers issued ones…Tony had access to the locations. That was why…"

"Not only Tony. The task force, and the bureaucrats, they all have access to the GPS data emitted by those new ones. If I had planted those on you, you'd have been arrested and locked up already." Natasha explained.

Steve slowly lifted his gaze towards Natasha's face and held her gaze. Steve _knew_ , that if Natasha had wanted him arrested or captured, she could have done it easily, she had all the means and tools to do it.

But she didn't.

She had his back instead.

Suddenly, he felt the need to reach out and touch her. So he took a deep breath, reached out, took her hand, and slowly lifted it towards his lips.

His eyes never once left hers as he pressed his lips to the back of her beautiful hand.

It was a bold but _necessary_ gesture. She had his back. Of all things she could've done, she chose to have his back instead.

"Thank you, Nat. For everything. For having my back."

He didn't release the hand immediately. Instead, he held on to her delicate hand as he continued to stare into her alluring emerald eyes, like as if those eyes held the secret to some sort of cosmic mystery. And at that moment, he knew, that the depths of his feelings for her were all clearly and obviously reflected in his own eyes. But he didn't care. Right then, he just wanted her to know how much her having his back meant to him. He _needed_ her to know just how much _she_ meant to him.

Natasha threw him a wan smile.

When she spoke next though, it was with a tone so soft and earnest that it made Steve's heart skipped a good three beats.

"Always, Steve."

Unconsciously, the pad of his thumb began tracing light circles at the back of her hand.

He thought he'd heard a little sigh escape her mouth, but he couldn't be sure.

 _'I love you, Nat.' Say it, Rogers. Say it. Now's your chance, tell her now. Spit it out._

 _Tell her, Rogers. Say it now! Goddamnit, Rogers, say it!_

He could feel the tension between them, strangling and wrangling at his neck. Invisible sparks danced around the space between their faces. The air between them laid thick, and dense. He felt a tug of anticipation at the pit of his stomach, the same one he'd felt during Project Rebirth when he lay on that surgical table.

All of a sudden, the room felt too cold.

A fleeting image of the ice flashed before his eyes. But it went away almost immediately.

 _Come on, Rogers! Inflate your balls. Tell her!_

Natasha averted her gaze almost at the same time as she pulled her hand away from Steve's palm.

Steve could only watch helplessly as her smooth hands slip away from his grasp, inch by inch.

When she spoke next, her tone was back to teasing again, and Steve knew that their little moment was gone.

"You still haven't completed the puzzle yet, old man. What, you're not giving up already, are you?"

The soldier sighed inwardly.

 _Wuss. Coward. Candy-ass._ Steve chided himself.

Steve cleared his throat once and tried to hide the disappointment from his voice, "When? When did you plant the device on me?"

"I could tell you… but then again… where's the fun in that?"

Steve let out a groan. Okay, fine, he wasn't really _that_ upset. Deep down, he was rather amused and maybe a little bit happy with their verbal sparring. Because this verbal sparring… it was _them_. It was their 'thing'.

"Was it back at the compound?"

The spy shook her head tauntingly, and perhaps a tad bit condescendingly, like a mother disappointed in her child.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Like I said, Rogers. _Slow._ "

Steve ignored the jibe and picked up the small device again. This time, he carefully perused the device.

Amid his scrutiny, Steve noted a singular feature of the tracking device. It was its geometry. The geometry of the device resembled some of the parts on Natasha's Widow's Bites.

"Huh." Steve drawled as a sudden thought registered in his mind. He stood up from the couch and began pacing back and forth in front of said furniture. Several moments later, he stopped his pacing and turned around to face the spy once more.

"The shape of this is device…I've seen it somewhere before… Your gauntlets. It's from your gauntlets isn't it… it was shot out from your gauntlets… it has to be…"

Another smirk from the spy.

"Try harder, Rogers."

Only then did the light bulbs flashed in Steve's head, and everything clicked into place.

"At the hangar… when you tazed T'Challa… it was during that time wasn't it…"

"Bingo."

Steve went slack-jawed in a concoction of shock and amazement.

"But you managed to plant it on me without me even noticing… That's…impressive."

Natasha shrugged in response, indicating the fact that she probably didn't think it was that big of a deal, but curiosity got the better of the soldier. He just had to know.

"How did you do it?" he asked, causing Natasha to smile sweetly at him.

"A girl has her ways…" Natasha said elusively, which spurred a chuckle from the soldier.

"Was it shot off at the same time as the electric charge?" Steve questioned, clearly not wanting to give up until he had known her trick.

"No. It was after. The first shot was aimed at T'Challa. It made you turned your head so…"

Steve nodded in recognition, "And then you fired the second shot onto my boot when I was looking behind me. Right. Very well played."

The spy raised her shoulders again in nonchalance.

Natasha shifted on the cushions and relaxed herself against the backrest while the soldier's mind worked.

Steve shook his head in amazement as he began putting the pieces together.

"You planned this even before Bucky and I ran into the hangar didn't you? You knew that T'Challa was after us, after Bucky, to be precise. But wait, back at the hangar, you could've told me from the start that you were planning to let Bucky and I go, but you didn't… why?"

"What happened to figuring it all out on your own?" the spy goaded.

Steve thought for a moment before he made the connection.

Steve dropped his gaze onto his lap and sighed, "Right. Of _course_ …"

"Took you long enough, Rogers. 2 minutes and 49 seconds."

Steve let out a laugh of pure amazement as he slowly put together how she did it, "You _wanted_ me to believe that you'd fire at _me_ … _THAT_ was why you never told us about your plan to let us go at the beginning. You wanted the first shot from your gauntlets to take me by surprise… So you stalled us until T'Challa's arrival, only then you fired the first shot at T'Challa, which would guarantee to surprise me because I'd expect you to shoot _at_ me. Then I'd turn my head in surprise. And you would then sneakily plant the device on me when I was looking behind. _Brilliant_. You're really the smartest woman I know, Nat."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Captain." said the spy playfully.

"Well, what can I say? I'd give credit when it's due." Steve grinned at the spy and shook his head, "That was one hell of a stunt you pulled there. You've bested all of us with just one simple move. You're amazing, you know that, Nat?"

It took Natasha every ounce of her training to hide the blush roused by Steve's compliment.

"Uhh, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Feeling slightly uncomfortable at Steve's intense stare, Natasha rose from the couch and walked over to the sliding doors which separated the suite's living area and its ginormous balcony.

Steve's eyes followed her every movement. When she stopped in front of the transparent door and stared into the darkness beyond it, Steve strode over and joined her at her side. He tried to ignore the electricity coursing through his body when the back of his hand brushed slightly against hers, focusing instead on the fact that she was _there_ , with _him_ , _beside_ him.

For a moment, Steve actually felt a little bit light headed, but he brushed it off as due to his hunger. He should eat something, he really should. But, honestly? Standing beside her like this felt so good. Her scent was strong, and he could feel the warmth emanating from her body beside him. But nothing could beat the sight of her though. She was simply _stunning_ , even in plain clothes.

God, he could stare at her forever.

Jesus, was he actually swooning? It certainly _felt_ like he was swooning. Perhaps he really was swooning a little.

Okay, maybe he really should go grab that snack bar, _now_.

But maybe just a couple of seconds longer…or maybe a couple more minutes…

Hell, screw it, he ain't movin' nowhere.

Steve was enjoying the comfortable silence between them when all of a sudden, he felt Natasha nudging his side with her elbow.

"Sorry I had to plant them on you, though. In hindsight, I think the better idea was to just go along with you to Siberia in the first place."

He didn't know what came over him, but Steve found himself balking at the idea, _vehemently._

"NO…! You… uh, definitely shouldn't have come along with me to Siberia." Steve croaked out, perhaps a tad bit too quickly.

Steve shuddered at the thought of Natasha getting caught in the middle of the brawl between him and Tony. _Oh, HELL no._

With the way Tony was fighting, he wasn't sure if Natasha would get out of the fight unharmed. But then again, wasn't every mission the same? Every time they were out Avenging, there was always the risk that the mission would be their last. At the thought, Steve palpitated. It would absolutely crush him if he lost her. But then again it would probably suck too if _he_ was killed in action without ever telling her how he felt about her.

 _That's it, Rogers. No more holding back. If you can't tell her, then you can act on it. Come on, Rogers!_

He took a deep breath and recovered, "What I mean is, no. I wouldn't have wanted you to come with me even if it happened all over again. And I'm glad that things turn out this way. That you planted those tracking devices on me…and found me here…"

Both of them turned towards each other at the same time.

The look on Natasha's face was that of confusion.

"Why?"

Steve had no idea what happened next, but the next thing he knew, his feet were moving on their own, and the words poured out of his mouth as if his mouth has its own brain, "Because then I wouldn't be able to do this…"

He crashed his lips onto hers.

Her mouth opened in a surprised gasp, which seemed to increase his confidence substantially to the point that he brought his tongue into the game. Boldly, his tongue stretched beyond the boundaries defined by her lips; tasting, exploring, and savoring _everything_ in its path before it finally tangled itself with her tongue.

He halfway expected to suddenly feel his manhood being yanked off his crotch, or to end up on the floor with her thighs wrapped around his neck (in a non-sexual, combat-related sort of way, obviously) but well, surprisingly, it didn't happen.

He thought of pulling away, then maybe fumble out an apology or two. Heck, he could even blame it on his low blood sugar and pretend that it all didn't happen.

Well, he almost did.

Almost.

He didn't.

Because the spy kissed him back.

All hell broke loose.

His arms travelled upwards automatically and framed her face as his tongue continue to wrestle with hers. As impressed as he was with their tongue wrestling, Steve realized that just having their lips and tongues touching wasn't nearly enough anymore. So he dropped his hands from her face onto her waist and spun her around against the sliding door.

Her back collided with the glass door so hard that the vibrations could be felt even 2 seconds after the contact was made. Heck, he thought he might have even cracked the goddamn glass a little but he didn't give a single damn, and he had a feeling that the spy didn't either.

A long and silky saliva bridge connected their lips as he pulled away to look into her eyes and seek her confirmation; the final confirmation that she, too, wanted this to go any further.

The darkening of her green eyes was the only indication he needed to start pushing her leather jacket off her shoulders. The saliva bridge collapsed when their lips joined together once more.

Both of his hands, which had been resting on her waist during this whole time, begged to be taken off the sidelines and to join the action. His right hand traveled along the circumference of her waist towards the front of her pants, pausing and hovering over the button.

With a skillful flick of his index finger and thumb, the garment was unbuttoned and the zipper undone.

At the same time, the soldier's mouth traveled down the column of her elegant neck, assaulting every inch of skin in its path.

Before he even realized it, his right hand slipped past the waistband of her pants and underwear, ready to infiltrate the most intimate part of her body. A few milliseconds later, it did, and an unstifled moan burst through the confines of her beautiful lips.

Then his fingers started moving against her, eliciting the most beautiful sounds he swear he had ever heard coming out from a woman's mouth. And this time, it was _his_ name at the tip of her tongue, not another man's.

"Steve…"

"Steve…."

"STEVE!"

He felt a violent shake on his arm.

"Wha…what?"

For a moment, he actually felt the room spinning a little.

He shook his head twice, and hard.

He was still standing beside her, in front of the glass door. But something was wrong. _Very_ wrong. Something was different.

Because Steve realized all of a sudden that they were still standing half a meter apart from each other, and that her leather jacket was still draped over her shoulders.

And the room was quiet. Too quiet.

Nobody was moaning anybody's name.

He stared at Natasha's face. And was dismayed to find that her face wasn't contorted in ecstasy like he'd previously thought it was. Instead, her face was scrunched up with concern and worry.

 _Oh shit. You've gotta be kidding me._ Steve cursed under his breath as he finally realized just what had happened.

"Steve, are you okay?" she asked.

It was a fucking hallucination.

It was all his wishful thinking, every goddamn second of it.

With much vehemence, Steve shook off the last vestiges of his sexual fantasy. But damn, it all just seemed so fucking _real_. So real that he'd swear that he could still 'feel' her slick arousal on his fingers as they slipped in and out between her wet folds, and as they rubbed against her cli–

But whatever, it had all been in his mind, a petty fantasy, like the ones that undoubtedly occupied the dreams of most teenagers. Petty, and pathetic.

 _Pathetic, Rogers. You're fucking pathetic._

Damn. He really should've taken the energy bar when he had the chance _._

"Steve?" she asked again when he didn't answer.

Steve shook his head, "Yeah. I'm okay. Why? What's wrong?"

The concern on her face morphed into a look of pure incredulity which could be readily dubbed as: really? You're seriously asking _me_ that?

But much to Steve's surprise, there was no quip from of her this time.

Instead, her voice was filled with concern when she spoke next.

"Nothing. It's just… you kinda zoned out for a while there. Like you were somewhere else entirely. You sure you're alright? This isn't like you, Steve."

 _Oh, I assure you, Nat, I wasn't elsewhere. We were both right here. We were standing right where we are, just doing things with our mouths that don't involve much talking._

Steve brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "I'm fine, Nat. I was just…..thinking about…. _stuff._ "

Steve nearly snorted at how lame that sounded.

 _Yeah… 'stuff' is right._

The teasing smirk was back on her face once again.

This time, she did joke, "Why? What happened there? Another trip to the Smithsonian?"

Steve chuckled, "Hilarious."

"Or wait, is it past your bed time already? An old man needs his beauty sleep, I suppose. I don't really mind if you need to grab a quick shut-eye, I mean, you were pretty much napping in a standing position just a few minutes ago."

Steve burst out laughing. God, her old-man jokes really did come with infinitely many variations.

"You know, Nat. You really have a funny way of showing your concerns. I'm touched." he deadpanned.

"And _you_ have an _annoying_ way of avoiding my questions." she quipped back.

Steve couldn't help but feel the edges of his lips curl up.

"It's no big deal, Nat. It's hypoglycemia. I tend to have uh… hallucinations, when my blood glucose drops below optimal level. It happens." Steve gave her a non-committal shrug.

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "T'Challa told me you had dinner with him. And aren't _royal_ dinners supposed to be big and heavy?"

"It was. It's just the serum. I need to eat a lot to sustain my metabolism. And even more so when my body is rapidly healing from wounds."

"Then good thing I can help you with that." The redhead strode over towards her duffel bag, and gestured for the soldier towards the kitchen counter.

* * *

They were seated face to face, but this time, at the kitchen counter. They had just finished a generous serving of pancakes which Natasha had procured from her duffel bag.

"Brought this over from the farm. Laura made this for breakfast." Natasha had told him when he had asked her about the origin of the pancakes. Steve had then heated the food with the microwave oven and had the heated pancakes served out on two plates for the both of them.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, not knowing what to talk about. To Steve, it felt like there were lots of things he wanted to say to her, but he just didn't know where to begin.

"What happened while I was…you know…" Steve shrugged, "… hallucinating." Steve broke the silence eventually.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd tell me that…"Natasha threw a pointed look at Steve, "Because one moment, I was talking about how I should've gone with you to Siberia, then the next moment you were going all hullabaloo on me and rambling off things like how I _shouldn't_ have gone along with you. And when I asked you why, you totally zoned out on me. Your eyes were unfocused, and no matter how hard I tried to shake you out of it, you wouldn't budge."

"Right. Sorry, Nat. Should've taken a snack bar or something."

"I was _this_ close to slapping you." she teased.

"Gee, what stopped you from doing just that, huh? Don't tell me it's my age, because most people don't stop shooting guns at me just because I'm a senior citizen. Else you can imagine how much easier my Avenging career would be." Steve deadpanned.

The spy huffed out a laugh.

"Well, I don't know… you just seemed… you seemed to be in a really good place. Whatever that had you whisked off into fantasy land must be doing a fantastic job, because you had this…blissful, and slacked look on your face….like as if you were in paradise." A smirk formed on Natasha's face as she leveled a pointed look at Steve, "Must be _some_ hallucination."

 _Oh you have no idea, Nat. NO. IDEA._

Steve quickly cleared his throat.

"Well, it's not so bad…" Steve felt the crimson crawling up his cheeks again, the burning on his face felt so intense that he could have sworn that steam was coming off the top of his head.

"Care to share with the class?" that teasing smirk was there on her angelic face again.

"Trust me, Nat. You _don't_ wanna know."

"Wow. Keeping things from me now, huh? Oh come on, you can tell me. I'm a big girl… so I'm pretty sure I can take it, whatever it is."

 _Yeah, only if it doesn't involve me ravishing you against a glass door._

"I don't think that's a good idea, Nat." Steve sighed.

"Come on… Humor me. And I'll even promise you that I'd keep this between us if it's some dirty secret of yours." the spy coaxed with that ultra-hyper-super-duper sexy voice of hers.

 _Or how 'bout I just show you, right here, right now? But that's probably a terrible idea._

Steve exhaled lengthily.

"Nat… Please. I'll tell you, just…not today okay? I'm not…it's not…it's not something I'm ready to talk about just yet. But I'll tell you soon, when I'm ready. And when the time comes, you'll be the first person I tell it to, I promise." Steve stated firmly.

 _The first, and probably the ONLY person to know. And if you didn't kill me after I tell you, I'd also like a chance to put actions into my words, thank you very much._

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but seemed satisfied with his answer, much to Steve's relief. On second thought, perhaps it wasn't his answer, per se, that she was satisfied with, but instead, it was probably the _promise_ of an answer that had gotten him off the hook this time.

"Okay. It's your promise. And there _will_ be consequences if you don't keep it."

"Thank you, Nat. For understanding" Steve held her gaze, his own eyes shone with humor next, "and for bringing supper too. But I guess now I'll have to clean up all these." He gestured over the kitchen counter.

The spy scoffed, "Seriously? You wanna be a clean freak? Now? And in a nation which probably had the best housekeeping services in the entire universe despite all its anti-tourism policies?"

Steve chuckled, "Yep. Sorry. Old habits. Couldn't shake it. Why don't you go sit on the couch, and I'll bring out some drinks after I'm done. Then we'll…talk some more." Steve hesitated at the end.

Natasha stared at him for a couple of seconds before huffing out a breath in resignation.

"Only if it's vodka."

Then the redhead turned around and headed for the loveseat couch.

 _Vodka it is then. Anything for you, Nat. Anything._

Steve risked a glance at her direction…and regretted it almost immediately.

Because that firecracker of a woman was _slowly_ sliding her black leather jacket off her body as she sauntered to the couch with perhaps _too much_ sway of her hips.

His enhanced hearing had even caught her muttering something under her breath in Russian while she was performing her little strip-tease; something along the lines of stubborn old men with the audacity to hide things from _her_.

Hot. Damn.

All of a sudden, he regretted not changing into his elastic workout pants before he answered the door, because right then, he really felt as though he was about to put a hole through the crotch of his expensive dress pants.

Yeah… he was right all along.

Natasha Romanoff was going to be the absolute _death_ of him.

Funny how HYDRA had been trying to kill him for more than 7 decades to no avail, and yet here came this one woman who had the capability to accomplish that very same task in perhaps just under a few seconds.

The Universe and its ever funny ways.


	14. Chapter 14: Tirades

_"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably." – William Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing._

* * *

"Steve..."

One mention of his name from her mouth was all it took to transform the ambience of the suite entirely.

The soldier faltered in his sip of vodka and shifted in his seat. His eyes carefully levelled at his drinking companion, studying her, scrutinizing her, scanning for any cues of distress. Because even _he_ could tell that something was wrong from the tone she'd use when saying his name.

The redhead sat silently beside him on that ridiculously large loveseat couch, nursing her own serving of vodka, _straight_ out of the bottle.

The entire suite was hushed and still.

Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of her fingernails against the vodka bottle in her hand.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

A consistent and monotonous rhythm. Almost like a clock ticking, counting down to some sort of catastrophe. It felt as though a storm was coming, or as though a tsunami tidal wave was about to hit.

That deafening stillness, that _calm_ before the storm, it unnerved him to the hilt.

Steve watched her elegant fingers worked away at the rhythm. Every click of her white nails against the glass wrecked his nerves a little bit, making him jumpy.

He brought his attention back to her face.

Her face betrayed absolutely nothing.

Neither did her eyes.

Her mouth was formed into a tight line.

Her overall exterior was calm and placid.

Her breathing was slow and even.

Her hands weren't clenched into fists, but were very much relaxed, with her fingers still wrapped loosely around the neck of the vodka bottle.

Outwardly, she seemed every bit like the sophisticated woman that she was, unruffled and unperturbed by anything in her surroundings. Just a beautiful woman who'd had a long day and wished to enjoy some good alcohol in the company of a friend.

But there was something in her voice before that screamed distress; something in the way she uttered his name that screamed trouble.

And even greater a warning sign was the fact that she hadn't said a single word ever since she uttered his name. She was usually forthcoming to the point of bluntness. So the fact that she was hesitating in her words was, in itself, a herald of trouble.

Something was definitely wrong.

Steve eyed cautiously as Natasha took another long gulp from the bottle.

"What is it, Nat?"

The spy slowly placed the bottle back onto the coffee table.

Their eyes met.

There were no teasing glints in her eyes, no smirk on her lips, no quirks in her brow. Nor were there any signs of that cute dimple on her cheek.

Her countenance appeared dead serious.

And Steve knew right away that the time for jokes and quips was up.

This was interrogative Black Widow.

The Black Widow wanted answers.

And from the looks of it, he was pretty sure he was about to experience the most intense interrogation session in his life _._

"Before you hallucinated, you said that you wouldn't want me to go along with you to Siberia... And you were quite adamant about it too." A pause. And a downright bone chilling stare from the spy, "Why?"

Now her tone sounded… _defensive_. Was she upset by his words?

Did his words offend her somehow?

Well, okay, in hindsight, perhaps he could have put things a little bit more _delicately_ compared to what he had said before… what was it again that he'd said?

Right. He had told her that she definitely _shouldn't_ have come to Siberia with him _and_ that he _wouldn't_ have asked her to come with him even if everything were to happen all over again.

And when she asked him for a reason why, he had totally zoned out on her… which… was probably why she was asking him about it now.

She wanted answers.

And from her defensive tone, Steve knew that his words must've offended her.

 _Why wouldn't she, you idiot. You've made it sound like you were undermining her capabilities you stupid asshole._ Steve thought.

His face paled immediately at the realization.

A realization which, unfortunately, came too little too late.

 _Oh…balls._

He was such a fucking imbecile.

Steve exhaled heavily. And the rocks glass he was holding in his hands soon joined Natasha's vodka bottle on the table.

"Nat, please don't take this the wrong wa-"

Her sharp voice cut him off.

"Oh _cut the crap_ , Rogers. I know that you and Tony had been beating the shit out of each other in Siberia."

The soldier flinched, risking a quick glance at her only to catch a glimpse of a very, _very unhappy_ Black Widow staring back at him. Apparently, he had some serious explaining task ahead for the night, and from the looks of it, probably a decent amount of groveling too.

Resigned, Steve turned away from her and leaned forward in the couch. His elbows came to rest on his knees.

"Yes… Tony and I, we fought each other in Siberia. And I wouldn't want you to get in the middle of that fight, Nat." said Steve.

 _I don't want you getting hurt._ Steve had left that part out in fear of giving her wrong ideas about him seeing her as being incapable of protecting herself and whatnot.

"Oh, so you think that I wouldn't be able to handle myself if I was there, is that it?" Her tone cut through the thick air like a vibranium scalpel. So much for not giving any wrong ideas.

The moment he heard the hurt contained in her voice, he whirled his head to the side to seek out her face.

"No, Nat. That's not what I-"

"Oh, I think that's _exactly_ what you meant, _Captain_." she snapped.

Her use of his rank title made him flinch once again.

The spy continued her tirade before he had the chance to explain.

"You don't trust me enough to have your back. You think that by being there, I will only hinder you…"

"NO! Nat. That's not what it was, if you could jus-" He was cut off again.

"THEN WHAT IS IT? I am your _partner_ , Steve. And partners trust one another to have each other's backs. For years we've been partners…and now all of a sudden you're saying that if given another choice back at the hangar, you'd deny a chance for me to be there and watch your back? What the hell's that supposed to mean, Steve? What, did all your trust in me suddenly just vanished into thin air or something?"

"It's not about trust, okay. I just didn't want you getting hurt that's all…"

Natasha scoffed, "Wow. That _really_ explains how much you trust my abilities to hold my own."

Steve had about enough.

"Jesus Christ, Natasha. That fight was _BRUTAL_. Tony fought with every intention to kill. Do you really think that I'd put you in harm's way like that if I'm given the choice?"

"Gee. Again. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rogers. Your old-age _dementia_ seems to have made you forget the fact that one year ago, I fought, _and survived_ , a battle with _an army_ of robot sentries on a _flying_ city."

Steve stood up from the couch so abruptly that his knees knocked the coffee table a good 2 feet away from where it stood before. He stormed towards the sliding door which overlooked the balcony. He stare out through the glass. The voiding darkness of the night mirrored the dark turmoil in his heart.

His kept his back to her, because he honestly couldn't bear to see her looking at him like the way she did now, like as though she needed to protect herself and her own heart from _him_ , like as though he was her enemy, like as though she couldn't let her guard down completely around him.

The cynic in him quickly envisioned what the situation would be like if Bruce was here with her instead of him. He tried envisaging her and Bruce, sitting in that same loveseat couch, the things that they'd be doing, or what her behavior would be like, or how the conversation would go.

Pfft. Conversation? Hah. He honestly doubt that there'd be much actual _conversation_ going on if Bruce was here instead of him. Oh yeah. There won't be much conversation all right, he could guarantee that. Instead they'd probably be-

A dark thought crossed his mind. A memory. A flashback.

He suddenly remembered that disrespectful comment Stark had made years ago.

 _"Romanoff… you and Banner better not be playing hide the Zucchini…"_

Yeah. Playing hide the Zucchini. That's probably what she'd be doing if Bruce was here with her right now.

Steve stifled a snort at the thought.

But at least she could still be herself around Bruce. At least when she was around Bruce, she wouldn't feel the desire to hide, or to protect her heart. With Bruce, at least she could be open.

Unlike with _him._

When Steve spoke next, his tone was resigned and tired.

"Nat. Listen to me. This has nothing to do with abilities or skills, okay? During the fight, Tony had completely lost control of his emotions, because he had found out that Bucky was the one who–"

The spy interjected again.

"Right. Your old buddy old pal Barnes. A dangerous assassin that could be made to turn against you with just a few combinations of words _which_ the psychiatrist had in his possession. Do you know how risky that was? Having Barnes there with you as your _only_ backup? What if the psychiatrist brought out the Winter Soldier again, huh? You ever thought of that!? Oh, wait no, I think you knew that. Because the great Captain America _always_ knows what he's doing." Natasha let out a bitter laugh, "You knew the high risks of having Barnes there with you. And yet you'd rather have Barnes there with you instead of me if given the choice. That says _a lot_ about your confidence in me, don't you think?"

Something in Steve snapped.

Steve turned around from the glass to face the couch, and for the first time, Natasha saw pure anger on his face.

Shivers careened down her spine, and it took every ounce of her training to maintain her poker face.

Instead of backing away, she fired away with increasing tenacity.

"I suppose your _dementia_ also had you forgetting the words which you'd said to me back at Sam's apartment two years ago, that the _High_ and _Mighty_ Captain America would trust _me_ to save _his_ life when it counts. Guess I was just really naïve to believe that." she said mockingly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Steve took a step closer to the couch, "After all these years… you still don't believe that I trust you. No matter how many times I've shown you…"

The spy stood up from the couch and took her own step closer to Steve. Her eyes blazing with the flames of tenacity.

"Well, guess what, Rogers. You really have a fantastic way of _showing_ your trust. What? What was I supposed to believe? That there were _two_ of you _supersoldiers_ against _one_ man in a can. 2 versus 1, an advantage, and yet you still think that my presence there would only hold you back."

Steve's expression darkened. His own eyes flashed with fury as he took another step closer to Natasha. His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, "He had FRIDAY. He had his full battle armor. He had his missiles and his goddamn repulsors, Nat. We had a _Frisbee_ and a metal arm. We were outgunned."

Natasha took another step closer.

"Right. And I bet you think that my presence there wouldn't make a goddamn difference. I bet you think that you'd have one extra damsel in distress to _take care of_ if I was there, an extra _liability_."

There was a slight hiatus in their yelling match when Steve was completely taken aback by Natasha's words.

Their breaths mingled dangerously in the small space between them, the venom from each of their previous words mixing and concocting together, forming a poisonous cocktail. Their eyes raged their own war. The tenacious flames of her green eyes battled ferociously with the darkened cerulean blues of his.

Steve let out a growl of frustration.

"Oh for God's sake, Nat! I never said that you'd be a liability! I'm just saying that the risks are too great. Open your eyes, Nat! He was a walking arsenal powered by an ultra-intelligent computer program! And he shot missiles at us, Nat. Missiles! Do you really expect me to put you through that if I had a choice not to?" Steve raised his voice, even though the person he was talking to was mere inches away from his face.

Natasha didn't flinch. Heck, she barely even blinked.

"And _**I** _ would have messed up his systems with just a few lines of computer code, and prevented you children from beating each other like a bunch of conceited _idiots_." Her tone equally low and dangerous.

Steve's eyes widened. He could feel her breath caressing his jaw as she glared up at him with those fiery green eyes.

Steve was speechless.

"So much for your trust, _Captain Rogers._ " said the spy as the soldier remained in his stupor.

The redhead turned to the couch, picked up her jacket, slid both arms into its sleeves and stormed towards the front door.

* * *

Steve Rogers wasn't letting her anywhere near that door. In a feat of superhuman speed, he intercepted Natasha's path to the door and blocked her using his rock-hard body.

"You wanna talk about trust? _Fine,_ let's talk about trust."

The quiver of anger was present in his every word. Every syllable he uttered accentuated his anger and frustration. His tall figure towered over the redhead as he took several steps forward, forcing the spy to retreat several steps back into the living area.

Undeterred by the spy's protests, Steve advanced forward in huge strides, forcing the redhead further back into the suite. With every sentence that he _growled out_ , Steve took a powerful step forward, and each time, it was accompanied by the clicking of the spy's boot heels as she was forced back two steps.

"You wanna know how much I trust you? _Fine._ I'll _tell_ you how much I trust you."

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"Who did I entrust the task of gathering intel about Bucky to after we took down SHIELD in D.C? _You._ I could've asked Fury, or Hill, two people who literally had eyes and ears _everywhere_! But no, I didn't ask them, I asked _you_ , Nat. _You._ Because I trusted _you_ more than them, I trusted you more than anyone else!"

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"This entire time, when we were leading the new team. The person, the _only_ person, whom I had ever entrusted my shield to, was _you._ And I've done that even way before we began co-leading the new team, Nat. Don't believe me? Okay. You remember last year? Huh? You remember?"

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"When we were up against Ultron in Sokovia, guess who I had entrusted my shield to? _You, Natasha._ It was _you_! I threw my shield to you. _Trusting_ you to be able to handle it well. Did the others have the same privilege? _No_. Only you, Nat. Only you."

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"While we were leading the New Avengers, did you ever hear me giving out orders to you while we were out in the field? No. Because I trusted your own skills and your own abilities to make the right calls. And while you were giving the orders, not once have I ever questioned you, Nat. Not once. What does that say about trust? A _lot_! Doesn't it?!"

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"Even from the very first day I met you, on the helicarrier, I had already trusted you! I had trusted your judgement, Natasha. One nod from you. _One!_ One goddamn nod! _From you_! That was _all_ I'd needed to give Clint the okay to be part of our mission against the Chitauri. Despite the fact that he had been brainwashed by the enemy just hours before the battle. Despite the fact that he almost took down the whole darn helicarrier with everyone on it! Yet, I still cleared him for the mission! Only because _you_ said he was good to go and I _trusted_ your judgement!"

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

"And you wanna know the biggest thing I've entrusted you with so far? Huh? You wanna know just how deep my trust for you runs, _Romanoff_?"

STEP!

CLICK! CLICK!

THUD!

The spy's back slammed forcefully into the bedroom door.

"Stev-"

"NO! Let me say this! I want you to hear this, whether you like it or not."

"My past, Natasha. My past. I've entrusted you with almost every bit of my past. And not just with the trivial stuff they put up at the Smithsonian, Nat. I've shared with you my intimate past, things that I don't talk about to _anyone_ before. I'd told you almost everything about my life. About Bucky, about my mother and about _Peggy_ too _._ Heck, I was _this_ close to asking you to come help me with my hunt for Bucky 2 years ago. Sam wasn't even the first one I had in mind as my partner for that mission, Nat. It was _you_! And God, if it weren't because all your covers were blown, Nat, I would've have asked you to come with me, I swear to God."

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head.

He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly at the same time.

"That story about my mother, and about me almost committing suicide when I was eleven… you're the second person I've told that story to, Nat. I didn't even tell _Peggy_. Do you even _know_ how personal that story was to me? Until today, only 3 people know that story, Nat. And here you are, doubting the depths of my trust for you. After all these years of me trying to prove it to you."

Steve let out a bitter chuckle.

Natasha had never ever seen Steve like this before, so riled up, so _not_ in control with his own emotions, so _angry_.

Natasha dropped her head in shame. Tears stung her eyes.

Steve's right hand found its way onto her left cheek, his thumb settled on the apple of her cheek.

"But what about you, Nat? Do you trust me?"

Natasha lifted her head, and gazed into Steve's eyes. The light had returned slightly to his baby blues, replacing the shade of stormy darkness from moments ago.

"You know that I do, Steve." She reached up with her left hand and rested it against the back of his hand that was touching her cheek.

Just like that, the storm returned to Steve's eyes once again.

Steve _sneered._

"Do you _really_?"

 _What the fuck?_ Natasha thought.

Her own eyes flashed with anger.

With a quick flick of her fingers, his hand that had been resting on her left cheek just a second ago was flung forcefully off her cheek. Said limb dropped and hung limply at Steve's side.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you _know_ what I meant, Romanoff. You _know._ " Steve showed no signs of backing off.

The spy's expressions contorted in anger. And confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

Steve shook his head in disapproval.

"I meant what I said, Romanoff. You don't trust me…not _fully_!" He spat.

SMACK!

The supersoldier stumbled back 2 steps when the spy delivered a powerful shove to his chest.

"Don't you dare! Don't you _dare_ say that, Rogers. How could you even think that I don-"

SLAM!

THUD!

Steve Rogers closed the gap between them once more, slamming his palms against the door, near both sides of her face. His rock solid abs brushed deliciously against her breasts.

"Oh, don't even, Romanoff. Don't bother playing the fool. You are the _smartest_ woman I know on the goddamn planet, so you must _know_ , that I wasn't talking about _that_ type of trust. I wasn't referring to the trust out in the field, it wasn't about the trust on the job or the missions either, and you _know_ it. Stop playing dumb."

"What?"

An exhausted sigh escaped Steve's lips. He removed his palms from the door and took a step back.

"Thing is... The mission…the job, and your life. That's about as far as your trust in me runs, Nat. Other than those? You don't really trust me."

Natasha's jaw went slack.

Steve released a humorless chuckle, one that was _brimming_ with rancor and vitriol.

"Guess I'll have to spell it all out for you, then, huh? Alright." Steve nodded, his lips curved down, "Do you trust me with your past?" He paused, his gaze pierced through Natasha's soul, "Your emotions?" He took a step closer,"Your heart?" The gentle hues of Steve's baby blues were now gone. They were replaced with midnight blues. So _dark_ and _angry._ "Your **_secrets_?" ** Steve finished after a long pause.

Natasha shuddered. Shuddered, at the unfamiliarity of it all, at the power contained in those eyes.

Natasha sighed and shook her head, "What are you implying, Steve?"

Steve paused for a good 5 seconds.

He looked away from the woman in front of him.

"You didn't tell me." Steve said, the anger had left his voice, and had been replaced by a sudden sadness and weariness.

"What?"

"Back in Clint's farm a year ago, while we were hiding from Ultron, I asked you about the vision that Maximoff showed you. You didn't tell me."

"Yeah, but I told you I wasn't ready, Steve."

"Yeah, well. A year has passed, and it turned out that I still didn't have a single clue as to what you saw back then."

"You didn't ask."

"That's because I didn't think that you'd ever be ready to tell me!" Steve snapped.

"I-"

But Steve cut her off before she could respond.

"Don't bother denying it, Nat. We worked side by side every day for the past year, you had all the chance to tell me, but you didn't. Admit it, you were _never_ planning on telling me were you? And if you did trust me enough, you would've told me the first time I asked you back at the farm."

"I told you I wasn't ready back then, Steve. God…!" Natasha ran both of her hands through her red locks.

Steve let out a dark and humorless chuckle.

"So you weren't ready, huh?" Steve paused for a breath, "Alright. Let me ask you this. When you shared a bedroom with Doctor Banner back at the farm. Same time, same place, same day. Same circumstances. Did he ask you about your vision back then?"

Natasha dropped her gaze to her feet. A few strands of red hair fell over her shoulders as a result.

Steve took cue in her silence, "So I guess my assumption's correct, that he _did_ ask you about your vision that day. Okay." Steve nodded twice.

"Did you tell him?" Steve asked again.

"Listen, Steve, that was-"

" _Did_ you tell him?" Steve's voice was on edge.

"Ste-"

" _DID_ you…or _DID_ you NOT tell him. Just answer the damn question, Romanoff."

It took her 4 seconds.

"Yes…" her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve lowered his head in defeat. He didn't know why he even reacted to her answer. It was stupid and pointless, really, since he pretty much knew the answer already before she even opened her mouth.

"Well, there's our answer. You trusted Banner with your heart, with your emotions and with your secrets. You trust him enough to let him in completely. That was why you told him straight away. But with me, you didn't."

Steve walked around the couch towards the coffee table, and reached for the vodka bottle. At times like these? Not being able to get drunk downright _sucked._

"You're not being fair here, Steve." Natasha said as Steve filled up his rocks glass with vodka.

"That's rich, Nat. As if you've been fair with me." Steve mocked.

It was a low blow. That much he knew, but he was too consumed in his anger right then to stop himself.

Natasha ignored the jab.

"You're speaking as if I never shared anything with you, Steve. And that's not true, remember that day when you gave me the two sketches?"

Natasha noticed Steve's anger faltered the moment he registered her words.

"Yeah, of course I remember. I gave those to you because I care about you, Natasha. And I wanted to show you how I see you as a person. I wanted to show you that, to me, in my eyes, you're a beautiful person, a _good_ person." Steve placed the vodka bottle back onto the table.

"And you remember afterwards, I spent the night talking and _sharing_ with you in your room? Did you forget that?"

Steve sighed and picked up his rocks glass from the table.

"I remember. You talked a little bit about your past, I remember every word you told me that night. _Every word._ " The glass was brought to his mouth as he took a much-needed sip. God, where was all that Asgardian mead when he needed it?

Natasha's tone went back to being defensive, "A _little_ bit about my past?! Wow. Never thought I'd share things with you only to have you _belittle_ them _._ "

Steve swallowed the mouthful of alcohol in his mouth, letting the burning sensation pass before he spoke again.

"You know what I meant. I didn't mean it that way. I didn't belittle-"

"Well it kinda _sounds_ like that's what you meant!" Natasha spat.

"Jesus, Nat. I wasn't belittling, okay? What I meant was that you shared only bits and pieces of them, but not everything, you didn't trust me enough to tell me everything. And I mean the _whole_ thing. _EVERY_ thing." Steve said pointedly.

"Gee. If you're such an _expert_ in the subject of Natasha Romanoff's Secrets, then I supposed you wouldn't need _me_ to share with you _anything_ at all, would you?" Natasha spat, failing to contain the torrents of venom and acrimony spilling out from her lips.

Steve shook his head disapprovingly and stared at the contents of the rocks glass in his hand.

Seconds later, he tore his eyes away from the glass and stared right into the spy's eyes.

"Alright, fine. Answer me this then, Nat. And I want the God-honest truth. No more quips, no more sarcasm, no more jokes."

"Shoot." Natasha said challengingly.

"Those things you shared with me that night in my room after I gave you the two pictures, did Clint have any knowledge of them?"

Natasha's face scrunched up in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Steve sighed in exasperation, "What I meant was, have you ever told Clint before the same things that you had shared with me that night?"

The look of confusion on Natasha's face deepened.

"What does that have to do with anything, Steve?" her voice was raised in frustration.

"Dammit, Nat. YES…or NO."

"Yes, I did. But I've known Clint for years before you were even thawed, Steve. You can't compare that."

Steve chuckled bitterly.

"Oh, I wasn't comparing myself with Clint, Nat. _Far_ from it." Steve said.

"Then what? Steve. What am I missing? What does Clint's knowledge of the things I've shared with you that night have to do with _anything_? Okay, so Clint knows about the things I've shared with you before, so what? I've known Clint for a _decade_ now."

Another bitter chuckle escaped the soldier's lips.

"You're a smart woman, Nat. You'll figure it out."

"Jesus, Steve. None of what you're saying makes any sense…first you compared yourself with Bruce and then Clint-" Natasha paused.

Steve watched the emotions play out on her beautiful face. First there was a look of recognition, of understanding. Then there was the instant paling of her face, was it guilt? Then finally, crimson flushed away the last vestige of the paleness.

Her eyes, so beautiful. Even in anger and resentment, her eyes were beautiful.

She was angry.

And so very beautiful.

"Told you you'd figured it out."

"So you did hear us. That morning, back at the Tower… when the team reassembled to deal with HYDRA and with Loki's scepter… we were all staying at the tower…" Natasha's eyebrows scrunched up, and her head tilted slightly to her right, trying to put the events together.

Steve remained silent.

She continued to piece the events together, "You overheard Bruce and I talking that morning didn't you…? And then you walked in afterwards…acting all cheery and dandy."

"Yes." He answered.

"How much did you hear?" she asked.

"I heard enough."

"Bruce and I were having a _private_ conversation, _Captain. Private._ One that you'd apparently eavesdropped on." Natasha snarled.

Steve said nothing.

"Did you hear it by accident, or were you eavesdropping?" Natasha demanded.

Steve dropped his head in shame. He took a ragged breath and shook his head.

" _Tell me_ , Steve. Were you eavesdropping?"

"Yes. Yes, I was eavesdropping." Steve's tone was weak, vanquished.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips.

"Wow. What happened to Captain Purity with the unwavering morality? What happened to the Boy Scout from the 1940s? And here I've always thought that Steve Rogers _defines_ chivalry and respect. Yet he didn't have the decency to respect the privacy of two people having a _PRIVATE_ conversation. Guess, I was totally wrong about you, huh? _The whole world_ , was wrong about you."

Ouch _._

The pain hit him almost immediately, and without warning. His heart hurt so much that he wanted to scream. It was unbearable. He couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe that he would one day hear those words coming out of _her_ mouth. From Tony it'd be bearable, but coming from _HER._ God, did _that_ hurt like a fucking bitch. Her words right then were akin to a knife, no, more like a fucking _katana_ , stabbed all the way through his heart, and then twisted over and over again. Try as he might, he couldn't contain the gasp of pain which erupted from his lips. He couldn't breathe.

Steve closed his eyes, trying all he could to undo the mutilation that was done to his poor heart.

 _Ouch. Coming from anyone else I would've been able to ignore…but coming from you, Nat…Ouch…_

Steve sighed. His heart was hurting. His head was hurting. His eyes stung. His ears rang. Everything was hurting. He'd honestly never felt this terrible before, not since taking the serum. Hell, not even that dip he took in the Potomac 2 years ago felt as bad. He said nothing, merely tightened his grip on the poor glass in his hand.

Natasha asked again after a long while, "Why did you eavesdrop?"

No answer.

"Why, Steve?"

CRACK!

The rocks glass shattered in Steve's superhuman grip.

" **GODDAMMIT!** BECAUSE I HAD FINALLY FOUND THAT PERSON WHOM I'M WILLING TO BEND ALL MY MORAL PRINCIPLES FOR, JUST SO I COULD HAVE A GODDAMN **_CHANCE_** TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT MORE ABOUT HER! THAT PERSON WHICH I CARE ABOUT MORE THAN ANYTHING! MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE! AND DEFINITELY MORE THAN SOME STUPID CHIVALRY EVERYONE EXPECTS FROM ME! **GOD!** FOR ONCE IN MY **_LIFE_** , WOULD EVERYONE JUST GIVE ME A **_BREAK_?!** I'M NOT SOME INNOCENT SAINT THAT Y'ALL THINK I AM, DAMN IT! I'M _**HUMAN,**_ ROMANOFF. I'M _**HUMAN!**_ I FEEL THINGS TOO!"

Natasha's eyes went wide.

Steve's still-clenched right hand dropped to his side, with torrents of crimson liquid dripping from it.

Shards of broken glass clinked to the floor noisily.

Puddling up beside Steve's foot was a mixture of blood… and vodka.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Hmm. Seems like this work isn't as receptive on this site. I might consider to stop publishing here entirely after all :'(


	15. Chapter 15: Aftermath

_"To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction; or, the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts." – Sir Isaac Newton, Principia Mathematica._

* * *

The soldier knew.

He knew, what his words must have sounded like.

A goddamn love confession.

Granted, it wasn't direct. In fact, it was as oblique and subtle as it could possibly get (the word 'love' never once appeared). But still, the tenor was there. The words were out there in the air, whether they chose to admit it or not. Well, he would admit it, no doubt. But would _she_?

The suite was quiet except for the sounds of heavy breathing of a man and a woman. Under more normal circumstances, those sounds would certainly be associated with more pleasant and _pleasurable_ activities, but then again, when there was a growing-size puddle of blood on the floor, it ain't rocket science to figure out that the circumstances didn't quite fit into the definition of 'normal'.

Steve remained rooted on his spot, with their entire heated exchange stuck on replay in his mind. Every time when he reached the end of the playback (the point where the glass shattered in his hands), his mind would always come to the same conclusion: that he had really done it this time, that he had ruined their friendship… no, it was probably more than that, their relationship… ugh, that didn't sound quite right either… their partnership… _thing_ … whatever, completely.

He had fucked up the best thing that had happened to his life ever since the Super Soldier Serum.

He didn't spare a single glance at her. He couldn't. Because if he did, it would feel like it was the last time he would ever see her face again. And that would absolutely break him.

His head was dipped low, like how a defeated man's would be. His chin rubbed continuously against the knot of the black tie tucked neatly between his collars.

His eyes were focused on his feet and nothing else.

He was waiting, no, _dreading_ , for the sound to come. That sound of the front door being opened and slammed shut. That sound, which would no doubt mark the beginning of his everlasting misery.

But it didn't come.

Maybe not yet?

 _Maybe she had already slipped out through the balcony or the bedroom windows and you're none the wiser, you asshole._

Eventually, the pain trickled in, triggered by drops of his own blood pooling on his foot, right at the valley between the big toe and the second toe.

Right. He had forgotten his own strength and had broken things again as a result. Funny how that kept happening when things involved her. Then again, was it really that surprising? After all, she was truly the one woman with the power to get under his skin like nobody else. Hell, not even aliens raining down from a hole in the sky could match her ability to get under his skin. Hey, on second thought, screw the aliens. Not even _The Hulk_ could affect him as much as she does.

One hell of a woman she was.

The most maddening, infuriating, challenging and _ball-busting_ woman he had ever met in his entire life.

And he was in love with her.

So help him God, he was absolutely crazy about her; in a head-over-heels-shattering-glasses-with-bare-hands-getting-whacked-in-the-face-by-a-900-pound-punching-bag sort of way.

In other words, he was screwed.

Totally, undeniably, and utterly screwed, for all eternity.

As the seconds ticked by, the throbbing pain on his wounded right hand became increasingly difficult to ignore. The pain, pulsing in unison with his heartbeat, was rendered infinitely worse by the burning sensation courtesy of the 'vodka dressing' on his wound. The smell of blood and vodka didn't escape his enhanced olfactory senses. As unpleasant as the stench was, he was actually grateful for it, because he could then use that bloody (literally and figuratively) stench as an excuse to explain the absence of her sweet scent instead of crediting it to her _actual_ physical absence from the room. At least he would still have some sort of 'excuse' to trick himself into believing that she was still there, with him, in the room. Objectivity be damned.

He should deal with the blood, pick up the broken pieces, fix his torn flesh, and clean up the mess. He should. He really should. But he was too afraid to move. Too afraid to lift his head and see her gone from the room, from his _life_ , forever. God, he so wished that this was all was just another one of his hallucinations – from the moment their conversation turned bitter to the moment the glass shattered in his grip. How he wished that this was all just some sick oeuvre of his glucose-deprived brain, and that he would eventually wake up to the sight of Natasha standing in front of him, shaking his arm, asking if he was okay while he stared forever into those captivating emerald orbs of hers. Hell, he thought it would be better if this entire 'Civil War' debacle had been a nightmare, and that he would eventually wake up to see his team, his _family_ , still intact.

A tear slipped down his left cheek.

Instead of wiping it off, he followed the path of his own tear and watched it drop into the blood-vodka puddle, diluting the crimson liquid.

Her soft voice came to his rescue.

"Steve… let me take a look at the hand…"

Her voice…

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

God, how could a voice that had roused so much anger from within him not five minutes ago now seemed so soothing, and so _alluring_?

Was this the effect of the often pedestalized 'power of love'?

Was this living, physical proof of the old aphorism, 'love conquers all'?

He finally dared to lift his gaze from his feet.

He noticed that her back was no longer touching against the bedroom door, and that she was now standing in front of him.

 _At least she's still here._

He took a breath and shook his head, "It's nothing. It'll close up in 15 minutes, and heal completely in 30 minutes."

He tried to sound nonchalant. _Tried_ to. But even the deaf could pick up the hoarseness in his usually clear-cut baritone.

She was touching his injured hand now, her left hand grabbing at the wrist, "That doesn't look like nothing, Steve. Let me take a look."

She gave a slight tug.

He didn't budge.

"It's fine, Nat. I've had worse."

She tugged harder.

He tried to pull away from her grasp, but something weird happened. Something which he had, until now, thought to be impossible.

His superhuman strength _failed_ him.

His _superhuman_ strength actually _failed_ him.

God, how pathetic he was right then, even his strength, the trusted advantage and power which he had so often relied on in combat situations, _crumbled_ at the mere feel of her skin against his. It truly terrified him a little, seeing the amount of power this woman had over him. She could literally crush him into pieces if she really wanted to. Take him asunder. Crush him. _Pulverize_ him.

"Steve…"

There was something in her voice. Something… that sounded a bit like fear, or worry.

Steve closed his eyes, struggling to find some sort of _balance_ between the feeling of comfort radiating from her touch and the stinging pain from the wound. The pain, as unsettling as it was, was also the reason why the woman of his dreams was even touching him. The pain was the _cause_ of all the comfort that he was feeling from her touch. So for him to prolong the tantalizing comfort of her hand on his wrist, the pain had to stay. And the result was the perfect amalgamation of two paradoxical sensations, pain and comfort, both coexisting in harmony.

He blew out a breath.

"Nat, you don't have to do this. I'll deal with it later. Really, it's fine…"

"Steve…let go of the glass."

He opened his eyes.

"What?" he looked at her with confusion.

"Steve…let go of the glass. Please…" her tone was firm, but her eyes were pleading.

Pleading, she was _pleading_ with him.

He glanced down at his hand and understood why.

The base of the rocks glass didn't shatter completely, and a huge chunk of it was lodged within his palm. Because he was still clenching his fist like as if his life depended on it.

Guess that explained the huge puddle.

He unclenched his fist slowly. Three or four loose pieces dropped to the floor, but the main chunk remained stuck within his flesh.

Immediately, Natasha's left hand yanked at Steve's tie, causing him to stumble forward, _nearly_ colliding with her body.

"Nat. Stop…" Steve said weakly.

He shuddered at how utterly pathetic his voice sounded.

He sounded like a wounded feline who hadn't had anything to eat in months.

Natasha ignored him, and began _dragging_ the supersoldier by his tie over to the kitchen counter.

 _Yeah, she's feisty, that one. If there's anyone who could manhandle a supersoldier, it'd be her._

Steve inwardly scoffed at the thought.

 _Big deal, asshole. She had even manipulated Loki before._ **Loki.** _A freaking_ **demigod.** _Manhandling a supersoldier? Pfft, like that's even a big deal._

When they reached the counter, she _shoved_ (God, she was sexy, acting all feisty and badass like that) him down on a stool and proceeded to yank his injured hand towards the brightest area of the kitchen counter before taking a seat on the opposite side of the counter.

She began inspecting the wound before he could say another word.

"It's not as bad as it seems, Nat. Look, it's late and you probably just got here and-"

"God, Rogers. Would you just _shut up_ already?! I'm trying to be a nurse here." Her tone was snarky, but it still managed to bring out a tiny smile from Steve. A rather miraculous occurrence, considering how their previous conversation had turned out.

Maybe she was just that good at making him smile.

"Ты идиот you idiot…" Natasha said, her eyes still focused on inspecting his wound.

Steve managed a little smirk.

"You know…Nat. Of all the years we've known each other, this is actually the first time you've called me an idiot, right to my face, at least." Steve said tiredly.

"That's because this is the only time you've truly acted like one." she stared daggers at him.

"Right. I suppose I deserved that." Steve sighed.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Steve went for a joke.

"Hey, you sure you don't wanna let me deal with the wound instead while you stand guard at the couch? I mean, it _is_ my blood. Wouldn't be surprised if a bunch of HYDRA goons burst through the balcony any second from now to take samples of it."

"And whose fault do you think is that?" She mocked without taking her eyes off his hand.

"Touché. Look-"

Steve was cut off abruptly when the spy stood up from her seat.

"Sit tight. And don't you dare move. I'm just gonna go grab some tools from the front reception. Maybe they have a Medi-Kit or something. Then I'll come up and deal with the wound."

Steve glanced up at her and was met with her don't-fucking-fuck-with-me-or-I'll-kill-you face.

 _God. So feisty. Reminds me so much of Peggy._

After a gulp, Steve said, "Yeah, okay."

She let go of his hand and walked around the counter towards the front door.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She turned her head back over her shoulders when she reached the door, "If you so much as _think_ of moving _an inch_ away from that stool, Rogers, so help me God, I will _skin_ you alive, you got it?"

Steve gulped, again.

 _Feisty. Sexy. And hot. Is it weird to be thinking about kissing her right now?_

Jesus, it'd been barely _minutes_ since they yelled at each other…and he was already thinking of ripping her clothes off?

Criminy, what had he become?

 _A man in love._ A voice in his head (which sounded _suspiciously_ like Bucky's) whispered to him.

"Yes Ma'am…" was all he managed to say before the front door slammed shut.


	16. Chapter 16: Nurse

_"Save one life, you are a hero. Save a hundred lives, you are a nurse." – Anonymous._

* * *

Natasha had been poking around his injured hand with a pair of forceps for a little over ten minutes now. The largest chunk of the glass had long since been removed. So, now, she was merely prodding around to find and remove those smaller, loose shards.

"You sure you don't feel weird or anything? You lost quite a lot of blood there."

Steve rolled his eyes and gave a snort.

"Really, Nat? I've taken direct hits from a demigod's scepter, from Tony's repulsors at close range, and from some guy who probably ran faster than a speeding bullet. I think I'll live." Steve retorted drily.

"Gee. Guess that explains why you were clutching onto that piece of glass like some masochistic old _pervert_." Natasha jibed while she yanked one of the glass pieces out of his hand with perhaps a little too much force than necessary.

Steve grimaced.

"Comes with the serum. My pain tolerance is a lot higher than that of a normal human. Guess I just didn't realize I was squeezing it."

"Yeah, well… Whatever _high_ pain tolerance you allegedly have, it didn't seem to stop you from making weird faces when I pulled that last one out did it?" said the spy without even looking away from his hand.

 _Of course she'd notice that._

Steve smirked.

"I suppose it's useless to tell you that some pollen went into my eye or something…"

The spy shot him a get-real look before she went back to poking around his palm. Ever since the serum, Steve had always avoided letting others deal with his wounds unless it was absolutely necessary. Mainly because he just felt uncomfortable, having people poking needles or messing with his wounds. Some other times, it was a form of precautionary measure, because he knew that there were many bad people out there who were _very_ interested in getting their hands on his blood. But with Natasha, he found that he didn't mind. Not at all. And in fact, it even surprised him, considering the countless times he had actually let her take care of him, like right now.

Quietly, Steve sat in his stool and watched her work. His gaze remain transfixed on her face as he continually studied her. The look of pure concentration was there, he'd quickly noticed. And then, of course, there were also other enticing details highlighting her features too. Such as the slight furrow of her brows, or the quick dance of her eyes in their sockets, or the unconscious opening and closing of her lips, or perhaps the occasional tongue peeking out to wet her lips. All of which had, time and again, rendered Steve in a state of utter _bewitchment_.

Christ. She was beautiful. Magnificently, stunningly, alluringly and dazzlingly beautiful. She deserved all the love in the world. All the good things that this world had to offer, she deserved. She deserved to be treasured. She deserved to be loved and cared for.

If only he could be that person to give her those things.

At some point, the spy must've noticed his relentless gawking and staring, because she suddenly looked up from his injured hand. Their eyes met across the kitchen counter. Her nursing duties all but forgotten. For a split second, he actually panicked. Because he thought that she might say something which would lead to another yelling match. But the panic vanished quickly when a tiny smile formed on her face. It was quite a subtle smile. Barely noticeable, just a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. But he knew her well enough to be able to perceive the subtle gesture.

Was she gonna start teasing him again? Start making fun of him for all the gawking he'd done? Or maybe start throwing some grandad jokes at him? Or maybe make some sort of sassy comment about him developing wrinkles if he kept staring so intensely at her face?

Should he say something?

That little moment ended when she dropped her gaze back onto his hand and went back to playing Florence Nightingale. Once again, he felt the tip of the forceps pressed against his skin, poking at his hand, nipping his flesh, pulling out tiny little translucent shards.

Steve couldn't help but take in the entire scene before him, his mind piecing together every single detail before his eyes as it tried to create some form of pattern.

A kitchen counter. A beautiful woman. A nice living suite.

An actual _life._

Warmth erupted within Steve's chest like brilliant fireworks. The warmth, the heat, and the sparks, swirled around in his torso like a vortex until they settled snugly at the pit of his belly.

Because that entire scene right there? This whole... _activity_ that they were engaged in? It was… _domestic._ So natural, and just so… _right._

It was a quick taste of happiness, a quick glimpse into the depths of his heart's longing.

A life. _His_ life. With an actual _someone_ in it.

 **It was a life shared with a loved one.**

 _The war's over Steve…_

 _We can go home…_

 _Imagine it!_

 _We can go home…_

Home.

Where _is_ home?

Did he even have one?

That warm fuzzy feeling soon morphed into desolation, and into sadness. The glimpse into happiness soon became a reminder of the life that he couldn't possibly have.

He had no home.

He had no one.

His best friend was a block of ice.

His first love lay asleep in a wooden box.

His second love was in love with another man.

He had **_no one._**

None.

His life, a _zero sum._

Another sharp tug of the forceps against his skin pull him out of his morbid thoughts.

He winced at the slight discomfort.

The cool, metallic feel of the forceps tip moved to another corner of his palm.

"You know… you'd make a great nurse, Nat." Steve commented lightly, trying _very hard_ not to wince this time as he felt another piece being yanked out of his flesh.

Natasha glared katanas at him.

Uh-oh. Did he hit a sore spot or something? Did he say something wrong?

 _Way to go, Steve. Looks like you've just added another pile of shit onto your shitty day._

But come on, he merely made an innocent comment about nurses. How was that even offending?

Did Natasha hate nurses or something?

But why would Natasha hate nurses? Pfft, why would _anyone_ hate nurses? Nurses were great. They're like angels. They save lives. Heck, his own Ma was a nurse.

Would it mean that she hated his Ma too?

Steve briefly entertained the silly notion that maybe the reason why Natasha never saw him beyond platonic boundaries was because of his Ma's occupation. Maybe her hatred for nurses was so colossal that the mere idea of being romantically entangled with a nurse's offspring downright repulsed her?

Bollocks.

The whole load of that was just plain _ridiculous._

What the hell was he even thinking? She didn't want him because she couldn't want him. And she couldn't want him because she just ain't feeling it. Plain and simple. _Deal with it, Rogers._

But hey, why was she still glaring at him like that?

 _What the hell did I do?_

Ahem. Well. Apparently, yelled at her, pushed her back against the wall, and then made numerous disrespectful comments about her relationship with other men. In other words, acted like a needy, presumptous, bitter, and conceited jackass.

 _Way to go, Rogers._

But why didn't she leave, then? Why stay and tend to his sorry ass? He clearly didn't deserve her tender care after making such an ass of himself just now. Hell, even _he_ wouldnt stay and tend to him after what he did.

So why stay?

Pfft. Guess he really didn't know a _bloody_ thing about women. Seriously, women are such complicated creatures.

"Did I…uh…did I…say something wrong? Because you look like you're about to shoot me."

The glare remained.

"No. I'm just feeling terribly sorry for myself right now…I mean look at me, two days ago I'm an Avenger, and now, I'm a senior citizen's private nurse. It's a little bit degrading for a career change."

And believe it or not folks, she actually spouted all _that_ with a straight face, and a piercing glare _._ God, she was hilarious.

Steve chuckled.

"Well, then. In that case, my stand remains. You'd make a wonderful nurse, Nat."

Any remaining scintilla of his concerns were immediately allayed when the glare finally morphed into her trademark smirk.

"And you'd make a decent masochist, Rogers. Won't be that surprised if I ever come across you _getting off_ right there in the middle of a battlefield, with a bunch of bullets and blades stuck in your chest." she quipped back sassily.

Steve laughed.

"Oh, I assure you, Nat. You don't need no bullets to get _me_ off. You only need the right woman." Steve's eyes bored into hers, those baby blue orbs grew several shades darker thereupon.

 _And the right one is sitting right across me._ He had wanted to add, but he didn't, because he wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with the consequences which would follow those words just yet.

 _You are the only one I ever need, Nat. If only you feel the same, if only…_

"Are you _flirting_ with me, Rogers?" her tone amused for the first time ever since their yelling match.

"Did it work?" Steve went for a smile to cover up another wince that he had once again failed to stave off as she pulled more shards out.

"Well, you might wanna try it again next time, when you don't have broken pieces of glass…" Natasha paused, and forcefully yanked out a huge piece of glass, causing Steve to grimace, "stuck in your hand. Because I'm pretty sure that…" she paused for a second time and _ripped_ another piece out, "flirting doesn't work when people do it with constipated looks on their faces."

Steve didn't miss the instigation that there would be a 'next time', but had wisely elected not to comment on it, because there would probably be, you know, consequences.

Steve chuckled and nodded, "Just returning the many 'favors' you'd done me all those years ago."

Steve was referring to all the times she had flirted with him, causing him to be in _very_ 'tight' and uncomfortable…uh…states. Then again, who was he even kidding? Most of the time, she didn't even have to flirt or do _anything_ to get him into… well, 'tight' situations. All it took was a simple gesture, such as a curl of her lips, or maybe a casual flip of her hair, or heck, just by wearing a freaking _sports bra_ , and she could have him squirming and calling his elastic pants for help.

Natasha responded by _wrenching_ out yet another huge piece from his flesh, eliciting a deep groan from the supersoldier. He cursed under his breath at the pain.

 _Did she do that on purpose?_

Judging from the slight curve at the edge of her lips, yep, she probably did.

"In hindsight, flirting probably isn't my strong suit, seeing how the woman was so keen on causing me pain right after I tried my mojo on her." Steve said wryly.

Natasha chuckled.

"Well…maybe she just knows that you're into masochism." Natasha looked up from his hand through her lashes without lifting her chin, altogether giving out a _very, very_ seductive aura.

 _Jesus Christ. This woman_ defines _seduction. I'll be lucky if I survive through the night without a hole in my pants._

Steve smirked, "So it worked, huh? And for the record, I am _not_ into masochism."

Natasha gave him an innocent look, "Oh…I wouldn't be too sure about that, Steve… Let's see here… jumping out of a plane without a chute...willingly participating in a one on one brawl with Ultron, and, more recently with its creator. Jumping right into the clash of egos between a thunder god and a walking arsenal… the broken glass just now…preventing a _helicopter_ from taking off with your bare hands….? Shall I go on?"

Steve scoffed, "Those were different, Nat. It's not like I was… _getting off_ or anything while I did those things."

"Well I guess I wouldn't know that, would I?" Natasha smirked before going back to playing nurse.

 _Oh you could if you want to…_

 _Just say the word, and I'll let you 'know' for the rest of your life, Nat._

* * *

Once again, Steve left Natasha to work in silence while he busied himself with thinking of ways to repair the damage done from their prior heated argument. As usual, he would try to shoulder all the blame, fall on his sword…shield…? Whatever.

He went over the line this time. That, he had no doubt of. He had let his feelings for Natasha controlled his actions, his thoughts, and his words. And now, he was at the risk of jeopardizing years of friendship between them, if it wasn't already in ruins.

He tried to remember the exact moment in their conversation when he had truly lost it, truly succumbed to his feelings. He realized that it was precisely at the moment when Natasha belittled his trust in her. From that point on, he had pretty much just… let his heart take over, or in simpler terms, snapped. He had felt an inexorable impulse to convince her just how much she meant to him and to convince her just how much he trusted her, be it on the battlefield or with his heart. Then one thing led to another, and he just _had_ to let his petty jealousy screw it all up. Yes, he knew that it was wrong of him to demand her to share things with him when _she_ really didn't want to. He had absolutely no right to demand her of that. _None_. Because she wasn't his, they weren't together. They had nothing special together. Her and Bruce was special, but her and him? Pfft. No. Not really. Try as Steve might, he just couldn't see how Natasha ever saw him in a special way. As far as Steve knew, Natasha had always treated him as if he was just another Average Joe. Like, come on. Meaningless flirting? Casual teasing? Nothing special there, right? Hell, _even_ if they were (by some miracle) indeed an item, he would still have no right to force her to do things that _she_ didn't want to do – including revealing all her secrets to him. Therefore, yes, it was wrong of him to expect her to trust him with her secrets or emotions when _she_ herself had not the desire to do so. He couldn't possibly _demand_ that of her. It just wouldn't be fair to her.

Steve knew, that bringing up the thing with Bruce was a mistake. A mistake induced by something as petty as jealousy. She had every right to choose whomever she wanted to trust her secrets with in the same way she had the liberty to choose whomever _not to trust_ her secrets with! Steve just didn't have a goddamn say in it, whether he liked it or not. Yet, he acted as though he did have a say in it, so, well, time to face the music.

In hindsight, Steve wasn't sure if he could even blame her for wanting to share intimate things about herself with Bruce, since she was, you know, _in love_ with the guy. Love makes people willing to share things after all – as far as Steve could tell anyway, not that he had much experience with relationships to begin with. Hey, come to think of, wouldn't that also explain why he himself was able to share, so naturally and without restraint, intimate things about himself with Natasha? Because Steve was, you know, _in love_ , with Natasha. Basically, just the same principle applied to different pairings!

Similarly, could he really blame Natasha if she _didn't_ feel the same way about him and therefore, by extension, had not the desire to share all her secrets with him? Again, in retrospect, Steve found that he really couldn't! After all, it wasn't like Steve would one day just randomly decide to sit down with Sharon and spill his heart to her for hours on end, right? No. That would be an _extremely_ unlikely occurrence, because he wasn't _in love_ with Sharon. Well, the exact same reasoning applies to Natasha's case too, right? Natasha wasn't in love with him, so that was why she didn't want to share all her secrets with him. It was fundamentally the same principle, just applied to different pairings. So why the double standard? How could he expect Natasha to open up to him when she wasn't… in love with him?

 _Way to go, you asshole. You've hurt her, you selfish bastard._

All in all, Steve felt like a total asshole, a douchebag, a jackass, a dickhead, a jerk…you name it.

He had to fix this. Fix _them_. Before their goose was truly cooked.

Steve schooled his features. He stole a glance at the spy and was satisfied that she was still busy playing nurse.

First, he needed a plan of attack. He couldn't afford to screw it all up at this point. He'd need a systematic approach that could give him a tactical advantage. He needed a sound plan. Though, whatever that plan was, he was pretty sure that it would involve a _lot_ of groveling, and God forbid, _begging._

He watched the spy slowly put the forceps back down onto the countertop's surface. He assumed at that point that all the shards were gone from his hand, though if he was honest, he didn't really care. She slowly removed her hand from his wrist, the same one she had used to steady his injured hand while she was 'nursing' his wounds.

Steve was staring at her intensely now, but she didn't seem to notice, because her eyes was focused on some of the bloody shards laid down on the countertop. Her expression seemed…hesitant, like she was unsure of what to say next.

Damn. Steve really dreaded the things that would come out from her mouth next. For all he knew, it could be, _'Steve…I think I'm gonna go…'_ or _'Steve…I don't think we should see each other ever again…'_ or _'Steve… I'm gonna walk out that door, and I won't ever appear in front of you ever again.'_ All of which, to Steve, were pretty much the same as obtaining a free lease for a lifelong supply of shit.

All of a sudden, Steve couldn't bear looking at her, too afraid that if he so much as looked at her, then he would somehow catch her lips moving, and that the words which came out were those words which he dreaded most. He tore his gaze away from her face and focused on some non-existent spot on the kitchen counter instead.

For all his hesitancies and evasiveness, Steve knew damn well that he should really say something, make things right again. And it would be best if he said it quick, before she could utter the words which he so dreaded.

 _Ugh, to hell with plans, out with it, Rogers, come on!_ Steve pepped himself for his impending _groveling_ task.

"I'm sorry that I yelled at you, Na-"

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you, Ste-"

Well. Apparently, both the soldier and the spy found their voices at the _exact_ same time.

Interesting.

Okay, but _seriously_ though, this simultaneity-in-their-speeches thingy was really starting to turn him on. Either he had the best timing in the universe, or he had just uncovered a hidden mind-reading superpower of the Super Soldier Serum. What was the deal with this simultaneity in their speeches anyway? When did they even start to have that kind of thing? Steve briefly entertained the notion of that same simultaneity being applied to _other_ arenas aside from speech; such as in the bedroom, for instance. Like, it'd certainly be great if they could have simultaneous orga-

Ahem. _Anyway._

Their eyes met across the kitchen counter. Stirring jolts of electricity through the still air as a result. Invisible sparks zapped across the space between them, sending tingles down each of their spines. Tingles, which neither of them would acknowledge afterwards.

Neither released the breaths that they were holding.

And then they both threw tentative smiles at each other, which in turn transformed into hearty chuckles, all of which occurring in perfect unison and beautiful synchrony.

Somewhere along their giggling fits, they had both lowered their gazes back onto the kitchen counter, too embarrassed to even look at each other.

When the laughter finally subsided, Steve regrouped and decided to let Natasha say her piece first, hoping that their shared chemistry wouldn't get in the way of effective communication this time.

"Ladies fir-" said Steve.

"You go fir-" said Natasha.

Only, both were uttered at the exact same time and at the exact same rhythm, _again_. So much for chemistry improving communication.

Maybe they should just forgo any attempts at conversations, and just let their bodies do all the talking instead. And then as a side bonus, they could even find out if their simultaneity do in fact exist in the bedroom after all.

Steve managed a tentative smile and a titter, "Sorry, Nat. Guess that happens a lot, huh?"

Natasha returned the smile, "It's alright… Think we can give Maximoff a run for her money?"

Steve's smile widened, showing two rows of perfect teeth.

"Don't think so. No." He shook his head slightly, "How about you go first, Nat?"

Natasha grinned at him, "Actually, I think _you_ should go first. You senior citizens are prone to memory lapses after all. Should probably spit 'em out before you forget 'em…don't you think?"

Steve guffawed. Boy, how he loved her sharp wit, and even more so when it was used to crack another one of her grandad jokes at him.

"Alright then. I'll go first…" Steve agreed.

Natasha began rummaging through the Medi-Kit again while Steve collected his thoughts. She took out some cotton buds, a tube of antiseptic and a small bottle of distilled water from the kit before she started cleaning off the vodka from his wounds with the distilled water.

Steve began after a long while.

"I'm so sorry for yelling at you, Nat. That was wrong of me."

Natasha had already begun dabbing his wounds with antiseptic by then, but from the slight nod of her head, Steve knew that he had her attention.

"When I said that I didn't want you there with me in Siberia, it wasn't because I didn't trust you, Nat. It was because I didn't think I'd survive if I lost you." Steve said solemnly.

The spy processed Steve's words with care, and the cotton bud seemed to mirror the actions of its holder by slowing down its trajectory over his broken flesh.

At her silence, Steve went on, "Please, Nat. _Believe me_. It also wasn't because I didn't think you could handle yourself if you were there, Nat. I know that you can. But there were risks. _Great_ risks. Tony, he…" Steve faltered.

The cotton bud stilled, and was soon abandoned on the countertop. The spy looked up at the soldier and took note of his distress.

The soldier sighed and shook his head.

"He lost it, Nat. He couldn't tell the difference between friend and foe anymore. Jesus…Nat, I was holding back…... I..." Steve's voice was thick with emotion; sadness, regret, and everything in between.

Natasha's hand rose to his cheek and stroked him tenderly. Steve leaned gratefully into her touch, savoring the comfort and warmth which emanated from her hand.

After a few moments, Steve picked up where he left off, "I was holding back. I couldn't fight him. Tony's my friend too… I merely did what I needed to do to stop him from killing Bucky, and to buy some time so that Bucky could scram. But God, Nat. Tony was going at me like he wanted me dead. He threw us _everything_ he got. When I was down on the ground, he threw a punch at me that would've actually killed me if I wasn't quick enough to avoid it… He used missiles on us. And even his chest beam…his chest beam destroyed Bucky's metal arm… and his repulsors... I was hit by the repulsors at melee range… broke some of my ribs. Christ, Nat…"

Her hand slipped away from his cheek and settled itself on his forearm. Steve's cheek instantly missed the warmth and comfort of her touch. For a moment, he thought of chasing that hand, and putting it back right where it belonged – his cheek. But he didn't, because her index finger began tracing out loops of comfort on his forearm through his shirt sleeve.

"Look, I know how _great_ you are. You're one of the most lethal fighters I've seen. But you're still human. And Tony's your friend too. And I _know,_ that, like me, you would see him as a friend back in Siberia if you were there with me. I know that you'd hold back against him like I did, because I know you, Nat. But thing is, I'm afraid that he wouldn't hold back against _you_. Because like I said before, he's totally lost it." Steve said.

"And if _anything_ happened to you…I..." Steve's voice cracked, "I wouldn't… I _couldn't_ …"

Tears slipped down Steve's cheeks.

He sniffed and took a deep breath of composure, "I've lost enough people in my life. And I can't lose you too, Nat. I can't. You're too important to me. Do you understand that?" Steve pleaded.

"I know now, Steve. I get it now. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry." the spy stated firmly.

"Thank you." Steve replied gratefully.

Wanting to give Steve some space to collect himself, the spy picked up the abandoned cotton bud and resumed her work.

* * *

Steve regained his composure after 3 minutes of comfortable silence.

"And I also want you to know that I trust you. With everything. Believe me, Nat, I do." Steve said, ending the brief hiatus.

Her hand faltered once more. The cotton bud paused and hovered above his wounds. She looked back up into Steve's eyes, seemingly to seek confirmation for his words.

And God did Steve ever tried his damnest to give her just that.

"I trust you. More than _anyone_ else. There's no other person on this planet that I would trust more than I trust you, Natasha. Nobody. Not even Bucky. Or else, I wouldn't have asked you to get Bucky's file for me." Steve spoke earnestly. He held her gaze with such intensity that he could literally feel his eyeballs being at the verge of popping out of his eye socks.

"Do you… do you really mean that?" The spy asked tentatively when she broke their eye contact, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes.

One of these days, he was going to have to find a way to deal with her insecurities regarding her trustworthiness. One of these days.

" _Yes._ I meant every word, Nat." Steve restated with as much conviction he could muster.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"You're welcome." he whispered back.

His eyes sought hers.

Natasha busied herself with applying antiseptic on his wounds. He had a feeling that she was avoiding eye contact on purpose, but again, had decided not to call her out on it. Didn't want to ruin the mood.

But when Steve tried to read her face seconds later, he saw a flick of relief and… _disbelief_.

Disbelief, at the fact that she truly had his complete trust.

 _Oh… Nat. What have those bastards done to you…_

Immediately, Steve's heart went out to the amazing woman seated right in front of him. She really hadn't a single fucking clue how amazing of a person she was, hadn't she? And the shittiest part was that no matter what he did, he still wasn't able to get her to _see_. To see how _good_ she truly was.

* * *

Young Natalia Alianovna Romanova was a brilliant young girl with a propitious future. A person who deserved all the love in the world, the kind of person Captain America was meant to protect and fight for. Someone who deserved to be _free_ , someone who had _all the right_ to be free. But life was never fair. And reality, ever cruel. Before young Natalia had a chance to live her life and inscribe her own kismet, humanity's vilest invaded her life and took everything away from her. She was subjugated, tortured, used, objectified, and brainwashed. They took away _everything_. Her loved ones. Her soul. Her heart. Her mind. Her fate. Her _choices._ Her _freedom._

That much Steve had known from Pierce's HYDRA files.

She had lost everything to those sick sons of bitches at the Red Room and KGB. Those cruel, and evil bastards who deserved to rot in hell for eternity. Steve's regret was that he couldn't be the one to send them there.

Young Natalia was forced into complete darkness. She was bludgeoned into the most profound depths of evil, _by evil_. However, what touched Steve the most about Natalia's life weren't the ordeals that were imposed on her, no. Instead, it was what **_she had become despite her ordeals_** that had proliferated Steve's admiration for the woman. In other words, Steve was deeply moved by the depths of Natalia's strength and resilience. From the moment Steve began studying her files, he had caught glimpses of what she had been through at the hands of those bastards, and he _saw,_ he _saw_ all the efforts she had made in order to fight her way out of evil's claws. And those were only the stuff that were actually _in_ the files! Ever since overhearing… fine, eavesdropping, okay? Ever since he eavesdropped on Natasha's conversation with Bruce, he knew that there were a lot more things about her past that were left out of the files, and that some of those things were unknown even to Clint. He knew that there were a ton of other things about her past that were known only to herself and more recently to Bruce. And Steve's gut told him that those secrets she had shared with Bruce were probably a lot worse than the things he'd read from her files.

Worse secrets, darker secrets or whatnot, none of that mattered. Because whatever her secrets were, they wouldn't change one thing: which was the fact that Natalia amazed Steve to the depths of his heart.

It simply amazed Steve to see the person that she had become today despite everything she had been through. And yeah, speaking of the things that she was put through, there were still times where Steve would find himself almost in tears at the mere thought of them. Even until now, the things that he had read in her files still tugged at his heartstrings like how a 120-tonne electric tug would. Other times, he would feel his blood boil in rage whenever he thought of all the sick tortures that the Red Room had subjected her to. From the very moment he opened her file, he had made a vow to himself, that he was gonna kill those sons of bitches if he ever found any of them.

Young Natalia was strong. Time and again, she had shown tremendous strength in her mind, and in her _heart_. She endured. She rallied. She managed to fight back, and from the deepest of darkness, she had crawled her way back out into the light. In the end, she thrived. Steve could find no words, none at all, which would suffice in expressing the depths of her strength. He really couldn't.

The most alarming fact was that Natalia _almost_ didn't make it. That terrifying thought still had the capacity to make Steve's blood run cold, even until this day. There were times when Steve would feel his skin crawl at the thought of Natalia never making it out of the darkness she was entrapped in. Steve silently thanked whatever Deity that existed for leading Clint Barton towards the discovery of Natalia. He really didn't know what would have happened to Natalia if it wasn't for Clint.

Clint Barton.

Clint Barton was a Godsend.

Clint Barton, the hero. The one who stood at the opening end of the dark tunnel that Natalia was trying so desperately to crawl out of. The man who had reached his hand out to Natalia instead of kicking her back down into the tunnel.

Clint Barton. The man who had grabbed hold of her hand and finally pulled Natalia out into the light.

Clint Barton was her savior.

Hell, Clint Barton was _Steve's_ savior.

Hawkeye was sent to kill Natalia. He made a different call. Hawkeye was a fucking genius. Captain America owed Hawkeye a _huge_ one.

At that, Steve made a mental note to himself to properly thank Clint for making that brilliant decision to spare Natalia's life back then, for giving Natalia a chance to be out in the light. Heck, Steve would give Clint a hug, help chop fifty years' worth of firewood supply for his farm, _anything._ Steve would give _anything_. He felt like he owed Clint for giving him a chance to know Natasha. But uh-oh, on second thought, wouldn't Steve also have the Red Skull to thank for that too? Yikes. Not much of a comforting thought, the latter.

Once out in the light, Natalia quickly became one of the foremost champions of good. She fought to protect, and she began saving lives, _lots and lots_ of lives. She became an Avenger, and a damn amazing one at that too. But Steve could tell, that there were still scars left behind from her past. She was emotionally closed off. She was prone to using humor and her wit to hide her true emotions. She didn't like talking about her emotions. She preferred to bottle them all up. She became afraid to love – but it's probably safe to say that she had overcome this particular fear when she finally encountered her knight in that ridiculously large _green_ armor. And worst of all? She was incapable of seeing the good in herself.

None of that would _ever_ change Steve's opinions of her though. Steve could see that there was _a lot_ of good in Natalia, no matter how much she tried to deny it. Steve _knew_ with two hundred percent certainty that Natalia was a good person, a _beautiful_ person.

Yes, Natalia was beautiful, both inside and out.

Only, she was clueless. No matter how many times he tried to show her, she just wouldn't believe her own beauty, her own goodness, and her own _worth_.

 _Jesus. What have those monsters done to such a beautiful person?_

What Steve felt next was rage. Pure unadulterated rage. At those sick, inhumane monsters who did those things to her and to Bucky. HYDRA, the KGB… all the fucking bullies in the world. Steve Rogers _hated_ bullies. He had had _enough_ of bullies. No more pulling his punches. The next time he encountered HYDRA agents, he was gonna fucking kill them with a single punch.

Steve wanted to undo all those things that were done to Natalia. He didn't know if he could. But he had to try. She deserved to know how wonderful and beautiful she really was. She needed to be reminded of the good in her. Was he the right man for the job? He honestly had no clue, but he ain't giving no rat's ass. He would try his _damnest_ to remove the shades that those bastards had put over her eyes, to get her to finally see the light, and to see colors. And most importantly, to see _herself_ standing and _shining_ in the light. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be free.

Because Steve loved her.

* * *

The antiseptic tube was capped, and Natasha was already putting away the cotton buds back into the wrapper. The antiseptic induced a light stinging sensation on all the cuts, but they were meagre compared to what the vodka did.

Steve wanted to say something, _anything_ , to comfort her, and to make things right between them again.

Steve reached across the counter top with his uninjured hand, and touched her shoulder, "Hey, listen. I know…that it is hard for you to believe what I told you before, about how much I trust you. But I won't give up. I will try _everything_ in my power to prove it to you, to show you that you have my complete trust. I _promise_ you."

Natasha let out a gentle breath, her eyes were glassy when she looked at him. But he didn't comment on it, he didn't joke. He didn't _want_ to joke. He wanted her to know that he meant everything he said.

She whispered, "Thank you, Steve. That means a lot…"

"Always." said Steve as he removed his hand from her shoulder.

Another tear fell onto Steve's vest, and he sniffed loudly, "Sorry. Stupid pollen." He shook his head in embarrassment and quickly lowered his head.

"Yeah…I'm sure it is." Natasha smiled, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Steve chuckled.

The spy smiled and patted his uninjured hand and rubbed it a couple of times, "And I'm sorry too… for doubting your trust. And for snapping at you."

Steve looked up, "Oh, no. It's okay. Nat. You don't have to-"

"No. I do. And I shouldn't have taken it personally…I mean about just now, when you said that you wouldn't want me there in Siberia if you were given another choice. It sounds stupid now, really. Arguing over a hypothetical _if._ But, I just want you to know that…that having your trust means a lot to me, Steve… So, when you said that you didn't want me there with you, for a moment it felt like you've lost confidence in me… and I guess I just got a little defensive…I'm sorry…"

"Nat. It's okay…You have every right to be mad, I shouldn't have said things so crassly. So I'm sorry too."

Natasha was toying with his sleeve when she went on, "Ever since the Red Room, I… I felt… I felt like I've lost part of my humanity. Like they've taken me apart and changed me into…" she hesitated, "into _something else_." She had wanted to say 'a monster' at first, but she knew that it would probably anger Steve again.

Steve rubbed affectionately at her hand that was smoothing over his sleeve.

She took it as a gesture for her to continue speaking.

"I felt dead inside… I don't feel _human_ anymore. Like I'm just a tool, an empty shell without a soul."

Steve's gaze softened. But he remained silent.

"It wasn't as bad after I joined SHIELD, because I thought I was going straight and that SHIELD was my second chance. My second chance at being human. I thought I could… _redeem_ my humanity by fighting alongside the good guys."

Steve exhaled, and placed his uninjured hand over hers in a comforting clasp. He knew where she was going with this, but he waited patiently for her to continue. He kept his hand there, letting her know that he was with her all the way.

"But then in that New Jersey bunker, we found out that SHIELD was HYDRA all along. I felt my whole world crashing down on me, Steve. My second chance, all that _good_ I thought I had been doing, and all the lies that I had told, they were all for HYDRA. I had put so much into what I did for SHIELD, thinking that I was doing good, thinking that I was redeeming myself, but it turned out… it turned out in the end that I merely traded my soul from one devil to another. I was…devastated."

Yeah…that fateful day back at Camp Leigh, the day they discovered that what they had done in the past were all for nothing, heck, he himself had literally _died_ for nothing. They were both devastated, to put mildly.

Steve held his tongue, waiting for her to say more.

"When the bogey came in, I nearly gave up…" she went on.

Steve's brows furrowed, "Gave up?"

Steve had a feeling that he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

Natasha sighed, "Yeah…remember when you found that hole on the floor back at the bunker?"

Steve said, "Yeah…"

He really had thought that they were both going to die back then, and worst, die in vain. Not a pleasant experience for someone with an eidetic memory.

"I was going to throw the Project Insight flash drive over to you and…I uhh… I wasn't planning to jump into the hole with you."

"Oh, Nat…" Steve sighed and tightened his hold on her hand.

"I uh…I didn't… I thought that if I didn't go in with you, you would have a better chance of survival… I mean if you weren't wasting effort protecting me, then maybe you just _might_ make it out alive….and…I didn't want to burden you or prevent you from fully protecting yourself…besides, I thought that I…" she hesitated again.

"You what?" Steve prodded gently.

"I thought that I didn't deserve to live." she finally said with a dejected sigh.

It took Steve literally everything, _everything_ , to not let his emotion show on his face. He didn't want her to think that he was pitying her, because he knew she _hated_ that.

Instead, Steve schooled his features and asked in a calm voice, "What stopped you? From giving up, I mean."

This time, the spy smiled and looked up into his eyes, "You, Steve. It was you."

Steve's jaw went slack, and his face was a combination of awe and perplexity.

The spy continued, "When you were picking up the metal grating covering that hole you found, like I said, I was already hesitating and I was about to throw the flash drive to you... But after you tossed the grating aside, you just… _turned around_ back at me and gave me this… _look_ , like you were expecting me to just jump into your arms and under your shield, like it was the most natural and obvious thing in the world, like it was… _instinctive_ and… like as if your subconscious mind thought that my life was _worth_ saving, Steve. And I just…" Natasha paused with a sigh.

Steve's eyes glazed over at the memory of those final few seconds when the missile hit the bunker. Yes, he did turn back and held his arms wide for her. He wanted to protect her. The thought of abandoning her to death never once crossed his mind. By the time she was in his arms, he could already feel the heat from the explosion and the shockwave trying to throw him off balance. But he stood firm and leaped into the pit with her in his arms. And when the whole building was crashing down on them, all he could think about was keeping her safe. He didn't care about anything else. Heck, he didn't even think about the fucking mission anymore at that time. All he wanted to do was to keep her alive. So he stood strong with his shield raised, and endured tons and tons of crashing concrete until it was over.

He also remembered feeling his heart stop at the sight of her unconscious figure. He remembered refusing to accept the possibility that she might already be dead and that he had truly failed her. He remembered picking up her limp body as he made his way out of the rubble. It wasn't until he saw her chest move that he had begun to breathe again.

The spy chuckled and picked up after her brief pause, "I guess at that moment, I just felt human again. I felt _alive_. Because you thought that my life was worth saving, and because you thought of me as more than just a tool, Steve. You thought that there's value in my life even after finding out that I had been lying and killing for the bad guys all along. You valued my life… and I just …I felt strong once more. So I chose to fight. To fight alongside you and to have your back."

And Steve couldn't have been any prouder of her for that, for choosing to fight back with all she had. He was so proud of her, and grateful too. He was lucky to have her by his side, watching his back. She was the best partner he could ever hope for.

Steve took a breath and smiled, "I'm glad you did. Because what we did in DC…" Steve exhaled, "We all couldn't have done it without you. We saved a lot of lives. _You_ saved a lot of lives. Remember that, Nat."

Natasha smiled, but she kept quiet.

"And for the record, you _are_ more than just a tool. And you _are_ human, and one of the kindest, smartest and the most beautiful _human being_ I've ever known too. I _mean_ it, Natasha." Steve said with as much ferocity he was capable of.

Natasha blushed, "I…uh…I'm not sure if I deserve all that, Steve." She pulled her hand away from his firm yet not too tight grasp. And honestly, it surprised Steve that they had been holding hands for that long.

Steve sighed heavily, but commented no further.

 _One of these days, I'm going to prove it to you, Nat. One of these days._

"I guess I've never properly thanked you before." the spy said after a while.

"For what?"

"For saving me, back in New Jersey." Natasha said.

Steve's mouth opened in protest.

But she clamped her hand down onto Steve's left bicep to shut him up.

"You _saved_ me, Steve, both physically and spiritually. You did. You saved my body from the building's collapse _and_ you gave me a reason to live and to fight again. I owe you."

Steve shook his head, "You would have done the same for me…and aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for you, I would've been dead a long time ago too. Both me and Sam."

"When?" her brows creased.

Steve scoffed, "You saved our asses, Nat. And you don't even remember."

"Serves me right for hanging around the elderly so often. Seems like you've been rubbing off on me the wrong way." She quipped.

Steve laughed, "Hilarious, Nat. And I was talking about the highway… Don't you remember?"

"Okay… _seriously_ , old man. _What have you done to me?_ " Natasha said in mock horror.

Steve let out a laugh, but his expression turned serious right after, "Sam was driving. And the Winter Soldier climbed on top of our car. I didn't see his gun. So if you hadn't pushed my head away to the side, my head would've been blown off right then. Sam's too. You were amazing, Nat."

"Oh, right, yeah… that. I remember now."

"Try to keep it inside that beautiful head of yours would ya? If you forget about it again next time, God knows I might start pulling some grandma jokes on you too." Steve quipped.

Natasha did not blush at the compliment. Nope. She definitely did not. She cleared her throat.

"Anyway. After the bunker, that talk we had back at Sam's… That was the first time ever that you'd told me that you trust me, right to my face. It was the first time I felt so trusted by someone. And…it was also the first time I felt that there's _value_ in my existence you know? Your words back then…they really gave me hope. Hope, that I'm still capable of bringing _good_ to the world. You have no idea how much your words meant to me back then, Steve."

"I do now. And I meant what I said back then too. I trust you."

"Thanks… and because having your trust is so important to me…. so when I snapped at you just now… it was because you said something that _might_ insinuate otherwise, and I just… _God,_ everything that's been keeping me going until now…all my hopes and aspirations, they all stemmed from your words back then, Steve. So when you suddenly insinuated otherwise… it just felt like…it just felt like all my hopes were just crushed you know? Like…" Natasha sighed, struggling to find the right words.

Steve came to her rescue, "Hey. Hey, Nat. It's okay. I understand. I get it now, I really do."

The spy smiled her appreciation. The soldier felt compelled to say more.

"And again, for the record, having _your_ trust means a lot to me too…which was..." Steve looked down on the countertop in shame. _Oh…crap._ He wasn't ready for this part of the conversation yet.

"Which was…?" Natasha prodded with a head tilt.

Steve sighed heavily.

"Which was why I compared myself to Bruce. I guess I had _hoped_ that you would have trusted me enough by now to let me in as much as you let… _other_ …people in…"

Natasha sighed, "Steve…"

Steve shook his head and chuckled, but his eyes were sad.

Steve tried to look indifferent, and added a light shrug, "But hey… we both know that I was in way over my head…" Steve gave out a forced laugh, "plus, it's not like you and I are, you know, _together_ or anything. So, _technically_ , it's none of my business…and I have no right to pry or to expect anything from you…so…" Steve fiddled with the fingers on his uninjured hand, "there was something else…"

He paused and thought hard before picking up where he left off.

"Right! The eavesdropping! Ugh…" Steve grimaced, "I'm so sorry about that by the way… it won't happen again, I promise." Steve attempted a smile, "And hey, who knows, you might not even have to worry about that anymore. Cause you know, like you always said, maybe after a couple of years I can't even hear that well anymore…being over a hundred years old and all that."

Steve shuddered inwardly.

Oh God. Just kill him now. That sounded so lame that it should be a crime worthy of a death sentence. Just kill him now, somebody _._

"Steve, it's not tha-"

Steve held up his hand to stop her from saying further, and for some reason, Steve just couldn't stop talking from that point onwards, "Nat, no. Please. It isn't your fault, okay? You don't have to explain _anything_ to me. You don't owe my anything. It was all me. I have no right to expect anything from you, Nat. I was out of line. _Waayy_ out of line. You trusted Bruce with your secrets and your heart, I get that, and I should've respected that. Ugh, no. That didn't come out quite right. What I meant was, I _do_ respect that. I respect the bond you two shared with each other and the…. _feelings,_ you have for each other. And I know that the things that I've said just now, you know, while we were yelling at each other and all that…yeah, those things I said were disrespectful to your relationship, and I'm really sorry about that. But that was only because we were yelling at each other and I wasn't totally in control of my emotions – again, my fault – so the things I said just now, they're kinda like a heat of the moment thing. So I guess what I wanna say is that, despite how I acted just now, I _still_ respect the relationship between you two. And of course I shouldn't have compared myself with Clint, Bruce and anyone else, really. You have every right to choose whom you wanna talk to or whom you wanna share your secrets with. I just don't have a say in it. Yet I acted as though I have a say in it. So yeah…I've acted way out of line this time, I'm sorry. None of this is your fault though, this is all on me. And, I'm sorry about that eavesdropping thing back then too. That was also wrong of me, obviously. But just for the record, I only eavesdropped for less than 2 minutes of your conversation, I swear. I stopped listening the moment you told Bruce that Clint had no knowledge of what you had just shared with him. So… yeah, you probably wouldn't have to worry about me knowing some of the things that you _don't_ want me to know, because, like I said, I'd only listened for less than 2 minutes…Uh, all in all, yeah, I just wanna say that I really respect the relationship between you two. And I think that you two have a great thing going, I mean, uh…you and Banner have a special relationship, and you've found each other and I'm happy for you guys…really… And hey! Maybe after this I could even help you track down Doctor Banner, I mean you've helped me with finding Bucky's file and all that last time, it's only right if I return the favor somehow. But then again, you're one of the best spies in the world, why would you need me tagging along, you probably could've-"

Steve stopped rambling when he noticed Natasha's very amused expression staring back at him.

God, the beautiful smirk was back again. It was the same smirk she had given him back at Barton's farm a year ago, when she teased him about the 'language' thing (stupid Tony).

 _"Steve doesn't like that kind of talk…"_

 _"You know what Romanoff..."_

That smirk almost undid him back then, and it was about to undo him now.

"What?" Steve asked warily.

"Nothing. I just wanna see if you were ever planning to stop talking at some point…" Natasha said playfully.

"Right. Sorry. Go ahead. It's probably your turn now…" Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

 _Don't you know when to shut up, asshole? Idiot._ Steve chastised himself.

Her face turned solemn.

"It was because I was afraid that I would lose you as a friend if I told you everything…" she began.

And just like that, Steve's eyes shone in understanding as the revelation hit him like a tsunami, and it made him feel like a bigger asshole than he already thought he was.

He said nothing more.

"I've done things, Steve. Despicable things. Some of which I'd rather forget… And I was just scared that after I tell you everything…you won't even be able to look at me the same way anymore. That I'd lose you as a friend for good. Our friendship means a lot to me, I can't lose that, I just can't…" the spy bit her bottom lip in hesitation.

The soldier waited.

The bottom lip was released at the same time she took a breath.

"It's not that I don't _want_ to talk about it with you. I _want_ to. It's just that…the more I come to value our friendship, the more I was scared of losing you. Every time, I would find myself not being _ready_ to talk about it with you, no matter how much I wanted to. And I didn't think you would be able to understand even if I told you, because you are such a good person, Steve. I didn't think that a person as good as you would even be able to accept the things that I've done in the past…"

Asshole didn't even come remotely close to describing what Steve was feeling like right then.

The redhead continued, "But with Bruce, I was able to share, because, Bruce and I, it feels like we have..."

Only _then_ did the second tidal wave of recognition and understanding hit him, and it hit him _hard_. Just like that, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Steve tilted his head back and turned his head slightly to the side as he breathed in deeply through his nose. He understood now. He finally got it.

"Shared-life experience…" they both said in unison, completing Natasha's previous sentence.

Natasha nodded and smiled wanly.

She lowered her head and went on, "And I'm sorry if I've made you feel undervalued, or unappreciated, or if I've ever made you feel that I don't value our friendship as much. That isn't the case Steve, believe me."

When Natasha stopped talking and glanced back up at Steve, she saw that Captain America was back. There it was, that look. The look of pure determination that had always given her hope, the look that had always driven her to be _better_ and to _fight_ harder for the good. The look which made her _stronger_ than ever. The look that had always _inspired_ her.

That look, which was Captain America's superpower prior to the serum.

That look which reflected the sheer power of his heart and the indomitability of his will.

Natasha knew right then, that everything was going to be okay.

Because Steve would make sure of that.

He always did.

And he did.


	17. Chapter 17: Announcement!

**ANNOUNCEMENT!**

Dear readers,

Please note that I **WILL** continue publishing The Broken Shield until it's very end. And like I've mentioned before in my author's notes, I won't be uploading the chapters that frequently here in due to various formatting issues, and the inferior interface and functionality of this site. I will, however, continue posting and updating in Archive of Our Own (in fact, it's already up to Chapter 24 in Ao3). If you find this story interesting and would like to know more, please head over to Archive of Our Own and read it there. I can't even post the link here, because this site (stupidly) truncates any hyperlinks included in the chapter texts.

As for the reason why I hesitate to upload the rest here, it's simply because it's just a real pain in the a**. Plus, my chapters are super long, and the html uploading function of this site is also flawed, so if I were to upload them here, it would take a lot of effort (editing and re-editing chapters which are more than 155K words, imagine that).

Once again, please head over to archive of our own, and then search the story title, The Broken Shield. You should be able to find it.

Lastly, I would appreciate it very much if you leave some feedback over at Ao3 (in the forms of comments or kudos).

Thank you very much.

Feel free to PM me should you have any more inquiries.

Isaiah.


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